HBam 

rr&BHiH^KKiK 


LIFE  IX  THE  WEST; 


OR,  THE 


MORETON   FAMILY. 


BY   TUE   AUTHOR    OF    -TIIE   VILLAGE    BOYS/' 


WRITTEX  FOR  THE  AMERICAN  SUNDAY-SCHOOL  UKIOJT. 


PHILADELPHIA  I 
AMERICAN   SfNDAY-SCHOOL  UNION, 

No.  14G  CHK.-TNUT  STREET. 

NEW  YORK,  No.  147  Nassau  Street BOSTON,  No.  9  Qomhitt. 

LOUISVILLE,  Ab.  103  Fourth  Street. 


I 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1851,  by  the 

AMERICAN    SUNDAY-SCIIOOL    UNION, 

iu  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  th*  Eastern  Di>trirt  of 
Pennsylvania. 


4®-  No  books  are  published  by  the  AMERICAN  SUNDAY-SCHOOL  UNION 
without  the  sanction  of  the  Committee  of  Publication,  consisting  of 
fourteen  members,  from  the  following  denominations  of  Christian- 
Baptist,  Methodist,  Congrogationalist,  Episcopal,  Presbyterian,  and  Re- 
formed Dutch.    Not  more  than  three  of  the  members  can  b- 
same  denomination,  and  no  book  can  be  published  to  which  any  mem- 
ber of  the  Committee  shaJl  object. 


Libraxy 


PREFACE. 


Tin:  f  plain  domestic  life  must,  in  a- 

measure,  be  •  une.  The  object 

of  the  following  story  is  to  combine  these  with 
healthful  moral  instruction,  and  to  show  how  a 
firm  reliance  upon  an  overruling  Providence, 
and  earnest  endeavours  to  promote  the  good 
of  others,  will  insure  our  own  happiness. 

The  scene  has  been  laid  in  one  of  our  West- 
ern States ;  the  one,  as  yet,  but  imperfectly 
developed  in  its  resources  or  in  its  power,  but, 
nevertheless,  advancing  with  great  rapidity  in 
civilization,  and  destined  to  take  its  true  place 
among  the  fertile  regions  of  the  West.  A 
family  in  moderate  circumstances  has  been 
chosen,  to  show  that  the  ability  to  do  good  lies 
not  so  much  in  wealth  as  in  well-directed  effort. 
The  sweet  ties  of  family  affection  and  indivi- 


6  PREFACE. 


dual  influence  are  recognised  ;  and  our  readers 
will  permit  the  hope,  that,  without  startling 
incident,  great  exploit,  or  magnificent  under- 
taking, the  simple  history  of  the  Moreton  family 
will  possess  an  interest  for  them,  and  awaken 
in  their  hearts  a  growing  love  for  our  beloved 
country,  and  an  earnest  desire  so  to  live,  and 
so  to  use  the  means  God  may  put  in  their 
power,  as  to  promote  its  true  prosperity — real- 
izing, by  our  own  experience,  that  "happy  is 
that  people  whose  God  is  the  Lord!" 


PART  I. 

LAURELTOK 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  I.— THE  FAMILY  CONCLAVE 11 

II. — PREPARATIONS  FOE  REMOVAL 23 

III.— NOTES  OF  WARNING 36 

%    IV.— DR.  NEWTON 46 

V.— UNCLE  ALFRED'S  GIFT 63 

VI.— THE  DEPARTURE 61 

VII.— JOURNEYING  THROUGH  THE  WOODS 67 

VIII. — ENCAMPMENT  IN  THE  WOODS 75 

IX. — A  SABBATH  IN  THE  WOODS 81 

• 

X. — TUB  RAINY-DAY'S  JOURNEY 92 


LIFE  IX  Till-  AV1-ST; 

OR,  THE 


AD\  :s  OF  TIII-:  Mniirrox  FAMILY. 


niAiTEIl  I. 

TIIE    FAMILY    CONCLAVE. 

"  Now,  what  do  you  all  say  about  it  ?  I  want  the 
opinion  of  every  one  of  you.  But  let  your  mother 
speak  first." 

"The  change  will  affect  the  future  life  of  the 
children  more  than  my  own,  my  dear  husband ;  and 
my  feelings  must  not  bias  their  decision.  Let  them 
tell  us  their  opinion,  before  we  speak  ours." 

"  Well,  Kobert,  you  are  the  eldest." 

"  I  say,  father,  let  us  go.  I  am  young,  but  am 
strong,  and  almost  a  man ;  and  I  know  that  we  can 
succeed.  I  am  ready  to  go." 

"  And  so  am  I,  father,"  said  Henry.  "  I  say, 
with  Robert,  let  us  go,  and  take  hold  of  a  new  farm. 
I  am  willing  to  work  hard  upon  it." 

11 


12  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


Mary  came  next  in  order  of  age,  and  all  eyes  were 
turned  towards  her.  She  sat  with  her  head  resting 
upon  her  hand,  evidently  in  serious  thought.  She 
paused  but  a  moment ;  then,  raising  her  head,  she 
said — 

"I  am  willing  to  go,  father." 

The  mother  saw  a  tear  glistening  in  the  daugh- 
ter's eye,  and  kindly  said — 

"  Speak  your  feelings  freely,  my  child.  Rem«-m- 
ber  that  we  are  all  one  family,  and  that  the  wishes 
and  happiness  of  each  member  of  our  little  circle  is 
the  wish  and  happiness  of  the  whole ;  and  that  the 
opinion  of  each  has  equal  weight  in  our  family 
conclave." 

"  I  am  willing  to  go,  mother/'  again  replied 
Mary;  "but,  for  the  moment,  our  home  here 
seemed  too  pleasant  to  leave ;  and  I  thought  of  our 
many  friends,  the  dear  old  trees,  and  my  beautiful 
garden.  It  was  only  for  a  moment,  though,"  she 
added,  with  a  bright  smile.  "We  can  soon  make  a 
home  there,  and  find  friends,  while  I  shall  learn 
to  love  the  wide  forests  and  the  beautiful  wild 
flowers." 

"Father,  are  there  any  bears  out  there?"  asked 
little  Alice. 

"  No,  my  darling,"  said  the  father,  smiling,  with 
the  others,  to  see  the  wondering  eyes  and  alarmed 
countenance  of  his  flaxen-haired  pet. 


THE   FAMILY    CONCLAVE.  13 


'illic  says  that  there  are  bears  and  Indians  ill 
the  woods." 

4>  Willie  does  wrong  to  try  to  frighten  you  with 
There  are  both   bears  and    Indians 
in  some  parts  of  the  world;  but  where  we  think  of 
going,  th-  ither  of  them  now." 

"  It'  t!i. -re  a iv  no  bears  there, and  mother  is  going, 
and  Willie,  I  want  to  go,  too.  Are  you  going, 
Will! 

"I  rather  think  T  shall.  Ally.  That  is,  if  father 
think-  I  am  worth  taking,"  said  he  roguishly. 

I   hr  may  not  think  you  are  worth  l«-av- 
ing,"  bert.     "But  you  are  all  talking  out  of 

your  turns.     Frank  ought  to  ha'.  \t  to 

Frank's  opinion  was  evidently  guided  by  Mary's, 
and  was  gi\vn  guardedly. 

"  We  are  very  happy  here,"  said  he;  "and  if  we 
are  poor,  we  shall  be  soon  old  enough  to  help  along. 
Robert  has  almost  learned  his  trade  now.  If  I  am 
to  be  a  printer,  I  think  I  had  better  stay  here. 
Printing  is  of  no  use  out  in  the  woods." 

"  It  will  not  always  be  '  the  woods7  out  there," 
replied  his  father.  "We  may  want  a  newspaper 
started  where  we  are,  and  you  will  be  just  the  one 
to  carry  it  on.  If,  after  you  are  old  enough  to  learn 
printing  as  a  trade,  you  still  desire  it,  whether  we 
live  here  or  there,  I  promise  you  that  you  shall  have 
the  opportunity." 


14  LIFE   IN    THE   WEST. 


"  That  ought  to  satisfy  you,  Frank,"  said  Charles, 
who  was  a  year  younger  than  his  brother.  "  I  should 
like  togQ.  I  read,  the  other  day,  about  the  wild  tur- 
kies  and  ducks,  the  deer  and  the  woodcock.  Oh  ! 
I  should  like  to  live  in  the  woods !"  and  visions  of 
the  time  when  he  should  be  the  happy  pos^-.^nr  "f 
a  gun  and  a  dog,  floating  through  his  mind,  made 
his  earnest,  expressive  countenance  beautiful. 

"  Charlie  shall  keep  us  supplied  with  <: 
Henry,  entering  into  the  enthusiasm  of  his  brother; 
"  and  Robert  and  I  will  help  father  raise  the  wheat 
for  bread — " 

"  Which  I  will  make,"  said  Mary — 

"And /will  eat,"  said  Willie.      "Who  a 
cannot  help  ?" 

"  There  is  one  more  to  speak.  Annie,  dear,  what 
do  you  say  ?"  asked  the  father. 

Annie,  the  twin-sister  of  Charles,  was  a  bashful, 
timid  child,  of  ten  years  of  age,  and  was  often  over- 
looked in  the  noisy  movements  of  her  brothers  and 
sisters.  A  naturally  thoughtful  habit  of  mind  had 
been  increased  by  almost  constant  feeble  health  and 
a  slight  deformity  of  person.  But  her  invariable 
sweetness  of  disposition  and  gentleness  of  character 
and  manner  made  her  the  darling  of  the  family 
circle.  As  they  now  looked  at  her  little  pale  face, 
and  large,  beaming,  intellectual  eyes,  and  remem- 
bered how  dependent  she  was  upon  joys  that  were 
brought  to  her,  and  how  unable  she  was  to  seek  ac- 


THE   FAMILY    CONCLAVE.  15 


:.e  a  hu.-h  and  silence  over  the 

little  group,  for  tin  >llected  that,  to  her,  the 

change  would  be  greater  than  to  the  others,  and  be 
fuller  of  privations  and  hardships.  Nor  was  this 
silence  broken,  until,  in  gentle  tones,  she  said — 

"If  we  all  live  together,  and  God  dwell  with  us 
there,  we  shall  be  happy." 

They  all  understand  little  Annie's  reference  to  the 
Mid,  when  I  >  a  new 

house — "Will  God  live  with  us  there '.'"  and  to 
them,  brought  up  and  ;  they  were,  to  love 

and  :  and  blessed  truths  of  r 

lation,  the  thought  of  God,  at  this  eriM>  of  their 
family  history,  was  not  an  unwelcome  one. 

"  AnniV   i  '.<•]-,  ;ift»T  a  mo- 

ment's silence.  "  If  we  love  each  ,Qtker,  and  the 
God  uf  1  with  us,  it  mat&re  not  \\ 

are,  we  must  be  happy.  I  believe,  with  your  father, 
that  it  is  better  I'-r  u-,  as  a  family,  t<>  the 

St.     The   majority  agree  with  me;  and,  under 
our  republican  government,  the  majority  must  rule, 
not  so,  husband  ?" 

"Yes,  my  dear;   and  a  largo  majority  we  seem  to 
hall  all  have  inconveniences 

and  troubles  connected  with  the  moving,  and  with 
the  new  home.  There  will  be  severe  labours  to  be 
performed,  hardships  to  be  endured,  and  some  pri- 
vations, connected  with  great  fatigue.  But  a  spirit 

of  love  and  hopeful  cheerfulness  will  enable  us  to 
2 


16  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST 


bear  these,  and  not  let  them  become  too  burdensome 
to  us.  We  are  all  strong,  well,  and  able  to  labour, 
except  Annie ;  and  Dr.  Newton  tells  me  that  the 
change  of  climate  will,  without  doubt,  benefit  her ; 
so,  if  we  have  God's  blessing  on  our  undertaking,  I 
TOfcn  see  no  reason  why  we  should  not* go.  In  all 
probability,  we  shall  gain,  as  it  regards  worldly 
prosperity;  and  you  will  have  a  K-ttn-  and  a  more 
independent  start  in  life  than  you  could  hav,  1 
where  there  is  more  competition,  and  the  means  of 
living  are  more  divided.  But  our  own  advantage 
ought  not  to  be  the  only  motive  in  going,  nor  our 
own  prosperity  the  only  consideration.  We  were 
not  placed  upon  this  earth  to  think  of  and  labour 
only  for  ourselves.  Whether  we  try  to  do  it  or  not, 
we  influence  those  about  us.  By  saying  and  doing 
those  things  that  are  right,  we  can  gain  a  good  in- 
fluence— one  that  shall  make  others  better  and  hap- 
pier; and  we  may  thus  fulfil  the  great  end  and  ob- 
ject of  life.  If  we  do  not  mean  to  aim  at  this, 
as  well  as  our  own  advantage,  in  removing  to 
another  place,  it  will  be  better  that  we  stay  where 
we  are ;  for,  to  succeed  fully  in  our^enterprise,  we 
must  go  as  a  God-fearing  family.  The*  restraints 
of  society  will,  in  a  measure,  be  removed  from  us, 
leaving  us  to  make  known  by  our  actions  how  far 
we  are  governed  by  love  to  God,  and  by  a  desire  to 
make  his  will  our  law.  There  must  be  an  unity  of 
purpose  with  us,  each  one,  as  it  were,  pulling  with 


FAMM  WE.  17 


to  help  on  the  welfare  and 
comfort  oi'  the  whole.  Wo  must  go  with  «  d 
mi/t'ifi»n  to  be  hujipy — '  to  look,'  as  Jean  Paul 
i he  siiuth  side  of  the  events  and  business 
of  life.'  Such  a  disposition  will  materially  lessen 
nur  labours  and  brighten  our  hearts.  If  we  L 

r  our  old  home,  (as  we  may 

have, .-  we  may  not  let  our  inuriiiurings  and  repinings 
rf uluess  or  hopefulness  of  those  who 
do  not  suffer  from  them.     Being  st.  in  a 

we  must  cling  to  each  other  for  our 
support  and  eomfort,  and  seek  our  pk-asinv  in  ,-adi 
other's  society,  and «  ach  of  us  contribute  to  the  happi- 
3  "t"  the  whole.  I  do  not  doubt,  my  dear  children, 
that  you  will  fultil  my  expectations ;  but  we  shall 
be  placed  in  new  circumstances,  and  cannot  now  tell 
wh;i  i'  character  those  circumstances  may 

develop  in  us  all.  It  is  better,  then,  to  speak  of 
the-  "penly  ami  freely,  calmly  to  think  of 

what  we  relinquish,  and  with  deliberation  to  form 
our  plans  fur  future  action ;  for  <  to  forewarn  is  to 
forearm  ourselves/  Do  you  all  say  that  we  had 
better  g 

TherAwas  now  an  unanimous  vote  in  favour  of  a 
new  home,  and  that  home  one  in  the  great  West. 
Even  the  little  Alice,  scarcely  seven  years  of  age, 
gave  her  opinion  understandingly  and  seriously ; 
while,  to  the  older  members  of  the  family,  the  pro- 
iect  assumed  a  mure  enlarged  aspect  and  bearing, 


18  LIFE   IN    THE 


WEST. 


and  their  personal  responsibilities  in  the  removal 
gave  to  each  of  them  a  feeling  of  deep  interest  in  its 
success.  As  they  afterwards  kneeled  about  the 
family  altar,  and  commended  themselves,  with  all 
their  plans,  to  the  care  and  guidance  of  their  hea- 
venly Father,  there  was  an  earnest  desire  in  every 
heart  for  God's  direction  and  blessing ;  for  they  felt 
that  it  was  "  not  in  man  who  walketh  to  direct  his 
steps. " 

"  If  Cousin  Susan  would  but  go  with  us,  mother," 
said  Mary,  as  she  sought  her  room,  before  retiring, 
"  I  should  desire  nothing  more." 

"  We  can  ask  her;  and  perhaps  she  may  be  per- 
suaded to  join  her  fortunes  to  ours,"  replied  her 
mother. 

The  family  circle,  to  which  we  have  so  unceremo- 
niously introduced  our  readers,  was  that  of  Mr. 
JAMES  MORETON.  He  was  the  father  of  eight 
children,  five  of  whom  were  boys — the  eldest,  Ro- 
bert, being  a  young  man  of  seventeen.  His  school 
education  was  completed,  and,  for  the  last  year,  he 
had  been  engaged  in  learning  the  trade  of  carriage-  * 
building;  his  father  deeming  it  best  to  grafSfy  a  na- 
tural taste  which  lie  showed  for  mechanics. 

Henry  was  a  year  and  a  half  younger  than  Robert, 
with  more  taste  for  books  and  quiet  employment ; 
but  he  was  practical  and  persevering,  with  a  ready 
will  and  a  strong  hand  for  labour.  For  several  years, 


FAMILY    CONCLAVE.  19 


he  bad  been  employed,  during  the  summer  months, 
working  with  his  father  upon  the  farm,  and  spent 
the  winter  and  fall  in  school  studies  and  duties. 
Mary  wafl  fourteen  years  of  age,  of  a  quick  appre- 
heiiMon  and  tenacious  memory.  She  was  like  Hen- 
ry in  disposition  and  character;  but  she  had  also 
inherited  from  her  mother  an  appreciation  and 
abiding  love  for  the  beautiful  in  nature,  which 
seemed  to  govern  her  whole  life.  It  was  not  ro- 
inanee  n.,r  sentiment  whieh  actuated  her,  so  much 
as  love;  and  her  own  affectionate  impulses,  sancti- 
fied by  the  spirit  of  <;..d,  led  her  to  view  those  by 
whom  she  was  surrounded  as  objects  of  loving  inte- 
.-iiid  tender  affection.  She  was  a  gay,  cheerful, 
bright-'-yed  young  girl,  with  some  personal  beauty; 
but  her  chief  charm  was  her  singular  disinterestedness 
and  constant  watchfulness  for  the  comfort  and  good 
of  others.  Happy  as  the  bird,  like  a  bird,  her  voice 
would  be  heard  sending  forth,  now  here,  now  there, 
sweet  notes  of  joy,  as  she,  with  busy  hands,  but 
light,  untroubled  heart,  was  employed  in  the  daily 
pursuits  of  domestic  life — her  cheerful  thoughts 
finding  utterance  in  song  so  constantly,  that  her 
mother  was  wont  to  call  her  "  her  bird." 

Frank  was  naturally  selfish  and  impatient;  yet, 
over  the  infirmities  of  his  temper  had  Mary  thrown 
the  mantle  of  her  love— often,  by  a  gentle,  persua- 
sive* word,  quieting  his  ebullitions  of  passionate  an- 
ger, and,  with  her  sunny  smile,  winning  him  back  to 
2* 


20  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST, 


peace  with  others  and  with  himself.  He  was  an 
object  of  solicitude  to  his  parents ;  yet  they  could 
see,  year  by  year,  that  the  domestic  influence  of 
home  was  rendering  him  more  considerate,  soften- 
ing his  temper,  and  making  him  less  hasty  in  his 
words  and  actions. 

Charlie  was  an  impetuous,  rash  little  ft-lW, 
ten  years  of  age,  full  of  daring,  and  with  a  disposi- 
tion to  think  quite  as  much  of  himself  as  he  ought 
to  think.  He  was  as  impulsive  in  his  afi'.vtinns  as 
in  his  pursuits — often  boisterously  fond  of  his  mo- 
ther and  sisters,  and  then,  again,  as  noisily  devoted 
to  something  else.  Yet  he  was  yielding  and  easily 
guided,  for  his  feelings  were  tender  and  quick ;  and 
if  he  did  wrong,  no  one  could  be  more  sorry  and 
penitent  than  he  was,  as  soon  as  he  saw  that  it  was 
wrong.  Annie  was  too  feeble  to  enter  into  his  sports 
Jtt  plans ;  yet,  in  her  dependence,  he  found  a  reason 
why  he  should  constitute  himself  her  protector  and 
guide ;  and  it  was  into  her  ear  that  he  poured  forth 
the  mighty  torrent  of  plans  which  his  active  brain 
formed,  and  her  feeble  voice  which  dissuaded  him 
from  undertaking  one-tenth  part  of  them;  though, 
in  justice  to  our  young  friend  Charlie's  firmness,  we 
'ought  to  state  that  it  was  impossible  to  think  twice 
of  most  of  them  without  seeing  both  their  impracti- 
cability and  uselessness. 

Willie  was  roguish  and  mischievous,  fond  of  fun 
to  an  alarming  degree,  for  a  boy  of  eight  years  of  age. 


THE    FAM11  \VK. 


Little  Alice  was  his  ohosen  playmate  aftd  companion, 
and  his  tenderness  and  love  f»»r  her  h;id  won  her  heart 
completely.  The  family  appellation  pven  t«>  this  little 
one,  the  youngest  of  them  all.  I  eurly-head," 

or  "  little  Miss  Curly-head/'  from  her  flaxen  ringlets, 
which  were  abundant  and  beautiful,  but,  from  the 

_:h  of  time  consumed  in  their  arrangement,  a 
source  of  great  annoyance  to  her.  She  was  a  capri- 
cious little  being,  full  of  freaks  and  fancies,  but 
warm-hearted  and  loving. 

Mr.  Moreton  had  married  in  early  life,  and  for 
several  years  had  .tile  pursuits. 

Owing  to  sonn  Cations  in  business 

and  a  combination  of  adverse  circumstances,  he  !<>>t 
much  of  his  property,  and  decided  to  gather  up  the 
small  rei  f  what  had  originally  been  a  hand- 

some estate,  and  purchase  a  farm  near  his  native 
town,  a  quiet  Massachusetts  village.  For  fourteen 
years  he  had  lived  happily  and  prosperously  there, 
respected  and  useful  a.s  a  citizen  and  as  a  man,  ful- 
filling all  his  duties  to  his  family  and  to  society  with 
faithfulness  and  success.  Uut  his  nieanswere  limited; 
and  while  there  was  an  abundance  produced  from 
the  farm  for  their  daily  wants,  both  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Moreton  felt  that  there  was  nothing,  beyond  this, 
upon  which  to  rely  for  their  children. 

Their  plan  of  moving  to  the  West  was  neither  a 
sudden  nor  a  hasty  project.  It  was  the  result  of 
much  thought  and  prayerful  deliberation,  and,  toge- 


22  LIFE   IN   THE  WEST. 


ther,  they  had  decided  to  ascertain  the  feelings  of 
the  children  on  the  subject,  and,  should  they  find 
them  desirous  or  willing  to  go,  to  remove  early  in 
the  coming  spring.  Calling  them  together,  as  his 
custom  was,  when  any  affair  which  concerned  the 
family  required  action  or  decision,  Mr.  Moreton 
placed  it  before  them ;  he  plainly  spoke  to  them  of 
his  own  pecuniary  affairs  and  of  his  prospects,  so  far 
as  they  might  be  interested  in  knowing  them.  IK 
then  mentioned  their  plan  of  emigration,  set  its  ad- 
vantages and  disadvantages  before  them,  and  told 
them  of  its  cares  as  well  as  of  its  pleasures,  trying  to 
bring  the  whole  matter  clearly  before  their  minds. 

The  result  we  have  laid  before  our  readers,  whose 
interest  in  the  family  history,  we  hope,  will  lead 
them  to  follow  us  during  our  detail  of  their  future 
course. 


PREPARATIONS    FOR    REMOVAL.  23 


CHAPTER  II. 

PREPARATIONS    FOR    REMOVAL. 

Letter  fr<>  >ton. 

,  Michigan,  Nov.  9th,  18 — . 

MY  DEAR  WIFE  AND  CIIIU>KKN: — When  I  left 
you,  to  start  upon  what  Willie  called  "my  ..voyage  of 
discovery,"  that  is,  my  journey,  I  thought  that,  by 
this  time,  I  should  be  able  to  give  you  some  definite 
information  as  to  your  future  home.  But  I  have  not 
yet  seen  any  farm,  that  suits  both  my  means  and  my 
desires,  that  I  could  purchase.  I  start  to-morrow,  to 
examine  some  lands  lying  in  Indiana  and  Illinois,  and 
in  a  week  or  two  I  shall  be  able  to  let  you  know  my 
decision.  I  am  very  glad  that  I  came  to  see  for  myself 
n  i>i'r<-]iti*infjj  for  I  find  that  much  of  the  land, 
which  was  highly  recommended  to  me,  is  hardly  worth 
the  "  taking  up,"  as  they  say  here^rhen  they  speak 
of  buying  land.  I  believe  the  land-agents  think  me 
very  particular,  and  not  easy  to  be  suited ;  but  they 
do  not  know  how  dear  to  me  are  the  interests  of  my 
wife  and  children.  I  must  look,  first,  for  a  In'tilthy 
'I'l'-atioiL*.  I  cannot  consent  that  cither  they  or  I 
shall  live  on  the  banks  of  a  sluggish  stream,  or  in 


24  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


the  neighborhood  of  a  swarnp.  Then,  I  do  not  ?/•'/// ' 
a  farm,  far  from  some  market-town,  though  far  and 
near  have  a  different  signification  in  the  West  from 
what  they  have  in  New  England.  Thirty  miles  is 
not/orr  here.  I  must  look  for  a  place  where  I  can 
get  lumber  for  a  house ;  and,  in  order  to  do  this,  a 
saw-mill,  within  dragging  distance,  must  be  taken 
into  consideration.  A  yri&t-mill,  too,  must  be 
thought  of,  where  we  can  get  our  wheat  and  corn 
ground;  and  it  is  desirable  that  both  of  these  should 
be  within  a  few  miles'  distance  of  our  home,  and 
should  already  have  passable  roads  leading  to  them. 
A  'school  and  a  church,  that  there  may  be  food  for 
the  mind  and  the  soul,  are  what  you  will  all  d«-' 
Then  your  mother  will  like  to  have  a  good  doctor 
within  reach,  if  you  should  be  sick;  and,  that 
may  not  be  likely  to  get  homesick  for  news  from 
LaureltoD,  there  must  be  a  post-office  not  very  far 
away.  I  must  be  careful,  too,  not  to  spend  iwyreat 
a  proportion  of  my  money  fur  land;  for  I  shall  want 
a  house  and  barn,  and  some  stock  for  the  farm.  I 
must  remember  that  there  are  taxes  to  pay,  and  be 
careful  not  to  6%  more  land  titan  I  can  innL-t  -pro- 
fitable. These  are  some  of  the  things  which  I  find 
every  wise  and  would-be  successful  emigrant  must 
look  after. 

My  travelling  adventures,  thus  far,  have  been  va- 
rious, some  pleasant,  and  some  not  at  all  agreeable. 
At  this  season  of  the  year,  I  cannot  look  for  fine 


PREPAKA .  't    IlKMoVAL.  25 


weather,  or  for  any  great  beauty  nf  SCOIKTV.  I  1. 
seen  many  of  the  people  who  dwell  in  these  parts  of 
the  world,  and  have  met  with  civility  and  even 
kindness  wherever  I  have  been.  Even  in  business 
matters,  I  have  experienced  nothing  but  what  was 
pleasant,  and  am  indebted  to  many  for  valuable 
hints  and  instructions  concerning  matters  of  which 
I  had  been  ignorant,  and  which  I  have  set  down  in 
my  memorandum-book  as  things  to  be  remembered. 
I  should  have  been  disappointed  if  I  had  allowed 
myself  to  look  for  any  great  elegance  of  manner,  or 
fur  what  is  called  style,  in  div-s  i»r  mode  of  living. 
So  I  should,  if  I  had  expected  good  roads,  or  elegant 
houses,  or  very  magnificent  show-farms.  These 
things  I  have  not  found. 

As  to  the  land  itself,  it  answers  all  my  expecta- 
tions. There  is  much  poor  land — low,  damp,  and 
unhealthy ;  but  a  large  proportion  of  it  is  rich,  fer- 
tile, easily  worked,  and  yielding  an  abundant  reward 
to  the  labourer. 

On  my  way  to  this  place,  I  stopped  at  the  door 
of  a  log-cabin,  by  the  roadside,  to  ask  if  I  could 
have  some  dinner.  I  was  hospitably  received,  and 
even  welcomed,  when  they  knew  that  I  was  from 
New  England,  for  that  had  been  the  home  of  my 
host  and  hostess.  My  wants  were  provided  for  and 
my  horse  fed,  for  which  I  could  not  persuade  Mr. 
Thomas  to  take  pay ;  for,  he  said,  "  We  would  pay 
anybody  who  would  come  from  New  England  to 


26  LIFE    IN    THE    WEST. 


see  us;  and  do  you  not  think  we  like  to  give  jou  a 
dinner  ?" 

I  went  with  Mr.  Thomas  about  his  farm.  lie 
had  bought  one  hundred  acres.  Eighty  of  them  he 
had  put  under  cultivation ;  or,  rather,  according  to 
the  Western  fashion, forty  were  lying  idle  this  year, 
and  the  forty  now  sown  were,  after  this  year,  to 
change  places  with  them;  thus  alternating  with  cadi 
other.  The  wheat  was  promising  finely,  and  ho 
hoped  soon  to  be  able  to  put  himself  up  a  frame 
house.  I  gathered  his  story,  as  we  went  along,  and 
found  that  in  early  life  he  had  been  an  inmate  nf 
the  ****  alms-house.  Indeed,  that  was  his  birth- 
place; and  there  he  remained  until  his  moth 
death,  which  occurred  when  he  was  seven  year 
age.  He  was  soon  bound  out  to  a  neighbouring 
farmer:  "And,"  said  he,  "I  seem  to  have  had 
luck  ever  since.  The  man  I  went  to  live  with  was 
a  good  man,  as  well  as  a  good/a/-///-  /•.  lie  sent  me 
to  school,  winters,  and  took  the  trouble,  sometimes, 
to  see  if  I  understood  what  I  studied.  I  had  to 
work  pretty  hard,  but  I  was  taught  the  best  way  of 
doing  every  thing,  and  how  to  save  and  take  care 
of  what  my  labour  gained.  I  stayed  with  him  until 
my  time  was  up,  and  after  that,  he  paid  me  good 
wages,  and  gave  me  chances  to  earn  money,  until  I 
had  five  hundred  dollars  in  the  savings'  bank. 
Then,  by  his  advice,  I  came  out  here,  bringing  my 
wife  with  me.  I  have  been  here  three  years,  and 


PREPARATIONS    FOR    REMOVAL.  -7 


you  can  see  how  much  headway  I  have  made.     T 
hive  a  good  farm.     Glorious  land  !    Ain't  it '/    You 
saw  my  wife  and  baby,  and  my  log-house,  and  my 
large  frame-barn.     I  have  a  good   team  of   h<>: 
two  cows,  a  flock  of  sheep — I  wish  you  could  see 
my  sheep  ! — and  I've  got  a  contented  heart.     T  i; 
to  see  old  Connecticut   again,  if  I   live;  but  not 
until  my  house  is  done,  and  paid  for." 

When  I  told  him,  I  intended  to  bring  my  family 
out  here,  to  resid--,  he  said  In-  was  glad  of  it  ;  i* 

od  country,  and  it  only  wanted  good  people  to 
live  in  it  :  and,  with  true  W» -stern  hospitality,  in- 
vited me  to  bring  you  all  to  see  them.  I  thanked 
him,  but  said  that  there  were  quite  too  many  of  us 
for  their  cabin,  with  its  one  sitting-room  and  its 
little  bed-room.  lie  laughed,  and  said,  "that  th<-y 
could  make  a  place  for  us,  I  might  be  sure." 

This  is  one  instance,  of  many  that  I  have  met, 
of  prosperous  emigration.  Industry,  good  sense,  and 
judgment,  and  good  habits  "do  &/•/'//;/;.  ."  or, 

rather,  to  speak  more  truly,  they  do  bring  the  ble.- 
of  Providence.      It  may  be  that  I  was  the  more 
forcibly  impressed  with  this  case,  because  I  had  the 
opportunity  to  contrast  it  with  that  of  a  settler,  with 
whom  T  had  passed  the  previous  night. 

If  I  wished  to  picture  <H*ri)niftn't  in  its  perfection, 
I  would  endeavour  to  make  the  canvas  shadow  forth 
the  interior  of  that  log-cabin.  There  was  a  family, 
man,  woman,  and  eight  children,  (just  our  number,) 


28  LIFE    IN    THE    WEST. 


all  living,  sleeping,  eating,  and  cooking  in  one  room, 
sixteen  by  twenty  feet  in  size,  and  dimly  lighted  by 
its  two  little  windows!  There  were  two  bedsteads; 
one  of  which  was  appropria  :  and,  if 

both  bedstead  and  myself  had  not  been  in  the  way 
of  the  cooking-stove,  and  the  cooking-stove  in  the 
way  of  both  the  bedstead  and  my.- /If,  L  might,  per- 
sonally, have  been  well  accommodated.  A-  it  was, 
I  passed  a  sleepless  night,  and  had  full  opportunity 
to  watch  the  movements  of  my  host's  family. 

I  ought  to  have  said,  that  some  of  tlu  n 
the  loft  above  the  room  during  the  night;  and  a 
trundle-bed,  drawn  from  beneath  mine,  was  the 
place  where  a  poor  sick  little  girl  lay,  with  flushed 
cheeks,  parched  lips,  and  a  burning  skin.  It  was  no- 
thing but  a  neglected  chill-fever,  they  said  ;  but  the 
little  thing  tossed  and  moaned  in  her  fitful  slumbers, 
awakening  my  sympathies  and  compassion,  which 
were  not  lessened,  you  may  be  sure,  when  the  mo- 
ther brought  her  a  dose  of  calomel,  mixed  with 
water,  and  held  up  a  piece  of  a,  large  yellowish 
pickle,  as  an  inducement  to  take  the  unpalatable 
medicine ! 

I  should  frighten  you  all  out  of  your  desires  even 
to  see  this  country,  if  I  gave  you  the  details  of  that 
night,  or  filled  up  the  picture  with  all  its  careless- 
ness and  want  of  cleanliness.  Nor  would  the  morn- 
ing meal,  of  poorly-prepared  food,  have  awakened  in 
any  of  you  strong  appetites.  I  was  glad  to  pay  my 


i  AUATloNS    FOR    REMOVAL.  29 


bill,  and  be  off  early  in  the  morning,  satisfied  that 
more  uncomfortable  feelings  could  be  crowded  into 
the  experience  <»f  one  night  than  1  had  supposed 

-ihle.     If  there  had  <  cessity  for  all  this 

buffering,  I  would   have  pitied,  but  not  complained 

of  it;  but  it  could  nut  escape  the  eye  of  the  dullest 

U  brought  about  by  the  union  of 

^loth  with  . 

An  originally  good  and  productive  fannwa-. 

-mailer  and  yielding  less,  for  the 
want  of  a  thrifty  and  industrious  owner;  while  h< 
and  his  whole  family  indulged  in  continual  com- 
nd  murmurings  against  their  lot,  finding 
fault  with  every  thing  about  them,  and  never  seeing 
that  the  whole  blame  of  their  ill  success  lay  with 
themselves,  and  they  were  reaping  the  result  of  their 
own  doit. 

These  two  extreme   cases  I  have  written  about, 

i  use  they  have  coine  so  directly  under  my  notice. 

There  is  every  variety  of  life  and  circumstance  here, 

and  these  must  be  taken  by  themselves,  rather  thau 

simples  of  Western  life ;  and  we  can  easily  draw 
our  own  lesson  from  them.     If  the  strong  bonds  of 
poverty  do  hold  people  here  in  such  homes  as  the 
i  have  described,  the  stronger  bonds  of  intem- 
perance and  indolence  will  assuredly  do  it. 

There  is  no  romance  in  life  here.     It  is  a  plain, 
straight-forward,    practical   character    and    course, 


30  LIFE    IN    THE 


guided  by  firm  faith  in  an  overruling  Providence, 
which  will  advance  the  best  interests  of  one's- 
self  and  of  the  community.  And,  when  I  think  of 
the  vast  influence  that  these  newly-settled  St; 
will  eventually  have  upon  the  welfare  of  our  free 
and  happy  nation ;  of  the  asylum  they  offer  to  the 
poor  and  oppressed  of  every  clime  and  country ;  of 
the  wealth  of  lands,  here  lying  ready  for  the  toil 
and  skill  of  the  agriculturist ;  above  all,  when,  as  a 
Christian,  I  indulge  in  far-extending  anticij)u.tions 
of  its  moral  progress,  and  the  part  it  is  yet  to  act 
in  the  evangelizing  of  the  world, — I  rejoice  in  the 
thought  that  I  may  be  permitted  to  help  on  the  good 
work ;  and,  as  each  drop  goes  to  fill  the  bucket,  so 
may  each  good  citizen  aid  in  swelling  the  tide  of  its 
prosperity  and  civilization. 

My  letter  is  a  long  one,  but  I  have  hardly  written 
the  half  I  purposed.  My  first  feeling  of  dismay  at 
the  newness  and  coarseness  of  things  has  passed 
away ;  so  has  that  of  discouragement  at  the  great 
work  to  be  done  here ;  and  I  now  view  our  enter- 
prise as  one  in  which  we  may  and  ought  to  engage 
hopefully  and  happily ;  for  I  fully  believe  that,  in  a 
great  measure,  a  man's  prosperity  is  here  placed  in 
his  own  keeping ;  and  the  heart  to  labour  and  do 
right  will  not  fail  to  bring  success,  both  as  regards 
ourselves  and  those  among  whom  we  may  be 
placed. 


PREPARA  il    REMOVAL.  31 


Let  us  all  ask  the  ble.-sing  of  our  h^venly  Father, 
and  his  direction  in  all  our  v>  ith  love  to  all, 

I  am  your's,  affectiona 

JAMKS  MoRETON. 

P.  S. — I  cannot  say,  with  any  confidence,  at  what 
you  may  expect  me  at  home ;  but  a  kind  Pro- 
vidence will  keep  us,  I  trust,  while  we  are  apart, 
and  give  us  the  pleasure  to  meet  again  in  health  and 
peace.  J.  31. 

Letter  from  Robert  to  liis  Fat' 

Laurelton,  Nov.  — ,  18 — . 

DEAR  FATHER  : — Yi-ur  very  welcome  letter  has 
just  been  .  and  I   am  appointed  by  mother 

to  reply  to  it,  in  the  name  of  the  family, 
pleased  to  hear  of  your  good  health,  and  of  your  fa- 
vourable impressions  ot  life.  You  do  not 
know  how  much  we  think  about  you,  nor  how  often 
we  talk  about  you,  exercising  our  Yankee  privilege 
of  guessing  where  yon  are,  and  what  you  are  doing. 
We  have  most  thoroughly  imbibed  the  spirit  of  emi- 
gration. Even  A.  Ir.  Speare  that  you  had 
gone  to  buy  K.S  a  farm  at  th  nd  each  of  us 
is  at  work,  in  some  way,  busying  ourselves  with  pre- 
parations for  moving  in  the  spring. 

As  you  recommended,  I  have  made  an  arrange- 
ment with  Mr.  S ,  by  which  I  am  released  from 

further  obligation  to  stay  with  him,  and  have  trans- 

3* 


32  LIFE   IN   THE    -\Vi:sT. 


forrccl  myself,  t<»<>ls  and  all,  to  Mr.  Redding's  cabinet- 
shop,  n^jj^rcarned,  already,  the  way  to  put  a  chair 
or  table  together,  and  can  put  up  a  shelf  or  fix  a 
drawer,  quite  like  a  workman.  Mr.  lU-dding  told 
me,  himself,  that  I  was  quite  a  hmuly  follow  at  the 
trade. 

Henry  looks  after  the  farm  and  the  family  at 
home,  but  has  commenced  the  study  of  surveying. 
This  occupies  most  of  his  leisure. 

Mary  is  in  school.  Mother  says  that  it  is  her 
last  winter  here,  and  that  she  must  devote  her  time 
to  the  study  of  those  branches  in  which  a  teacher  is 
most  necessary.  Music,  as  a  science,  and  French, 
take  most  of  her  attention,  although  she  and  Henry 
are  trying,  evenings,  to  study  German  with  Mr. 
Perrot.  Mary  declares  that  to  know  how  to  make 
gingerbread  will  be  likely  to  be  of  more  benefit  to  her 
than  how  to  speak  German ;  but  mother  only  smiles, 
and  says  that  there  is  time  and  opportunity  for 
both. 

Frank  and  Charlie  are  in  school ;  but,  in  their 
leisure  hours,  are  in  earnest  with  their  preparations, 
though  in  rather  different  lines.  Frank  is  looking 
up  and  sorting  out  all  the  books  in  the  house ;  and 
has  petitioned  mother  so  earnestly  to  allow  him  to 
take  lessons  in  drawing  and  perspective,  that  she 
has  consented,  and  he  is  really  making  rapid  pro- 
gress in  this  accomplishment. 

Charlie,  true  to  his  native  propensity,  asked  old 


FRET. 


•ARATInNs    n>R    REMOVAL.  33 


Captain  Stetson  if  he  would  "  teach  him  t«\///v  a  gun ;" 
and  the  old  gentleman  has  undertaken  to  initiate  him 
in  the  mysteries  of  holding  both  gun  and  rifle,  and 
shooting  with  the  same.  At  first,  mother  objected 
to  this,  thinking  he  might  be  troublesome;  and, 
indeed,  she  felt  that  he  was  too  young  and  impulsive 
to  be  trusted  with  such  dangerous  articles ;  but,  upon 
ng  his  solemn  word  never  to  touch  them 
without  Captain  Stetson's  leave,  and  quoting  General 
Washington's  speech  about  the  hatchet,  "  I  cannot 
tell  a  lie,  mother/'  she  gave  her  consent.  At  her 
request,  I  made  it  a  point  to  be  present  during  his 
first  and  second  days'  exercise,  that  T  miirht  look 
after  him  ;  but  I  found  the  responsibility  of  the 
employment  had  sobered  his  little  wild  head,  and 
that  if  I  continued  to  be  with  him,  (whieh  1  was 
inclined  to  do,)  it  would  be  to  take  advantage  of  the 
instruction  of  so  experienced  a  sportsman  as  Captain 
Stetson  for  myself.  lie  meanwhile  says,  and,  I 
lieve,  he  means  what  he  says,  "  that  it  is  a  plea- 
to  him  to  have  us  come." 

Annie  took  me  up  into  her  sunny  little  room,  yes- 
terday, that  I  might  see  how  nicely  she  had  put  up 
and  labelled  the  garden  and  flower  seeds.  She  told 
me  that  she  was  making  some  bags  to  put  the  larger 
seeds  in.  She  really  seems  better  and  brighter  for 
the  prospect  of  the  change.  She  has  promised  Willie 
a  bag  for  his  marbles,  is  to  mak-  '''<«j  Jrcss 

for  Alice's  doll,  has  helped  Frankcover  his  books, 


34  LIFE   IX    THE    WKST. 


and  I 'heard  Charles  tell  her  that  he  should  want  a 
large  flannel  bag  made,  with  a  strap  to  go  over  the 
shoulder,  for  his  game. 

As  for  Willie  and  Alice,  their  arrangements  would 
be  more  apparent,  and  their  success  more  complete, 
if  they  did  not  pull  to  pieces  something  that  they 
have  before  done  to  finish  what  they  are  now  doing. 
But  they  are  well,  and  their  bright,  happy  faces  and 
pleasant  words  help  us  all  along. 

Cousin  Susan  is  with  us ;  and,  since  she  con 
to  accompany  us,  Mary  has  been  as  full  of  anticipa- 
tion as  the  rest  of  us.  She  goes  about  singing  all 
the  day,  helping  first  one  and  then  another  in  their 
plans.  Cousin  Susan  said,  laughingly,  that  -he 
must  have  a  trade  before  she  went,  as  a  resource 
against  a  day  of  want.  We  told  her  that  she  could 
teach  school  there,  but  she  said,  "No,  that  was 
Mary's  calling ;"  and  she  goes  now,  .,  to 

sew  with  Miss  Dearborn,  and  learns  how  to  make 
bonnets  and  cut  dresses ;  and,  when  that  is  over,  she 
says  that  she  will  not  say  she  is  ready  to  go  until 
she  has  also  learned  how  to  cut  and  make  clothes 
for  us  boys.  Before  we  finish,  we  are  likely  to  have 
every  trade  in  the  family.  I  hope  these  plans  will 
all  meet  with  your  approbation,  and  that  you  will 
soon  be  at  home  to  tell  us  so. 

All  send  their  best  love  to  you.  Mother  wishes 
to  add  a  postcript,  and  Willie  says,  "  Ask  father  to 


RA  R    REMOVAL.  35 


let  us  know,  right  away,  whether  we  are  to  be  Buck- 
eyes. Wolverines,  or  Hoosiers?" 

Y«ur  all'. -ct innate  son, 

ROBERT. 

MY  DEAR  HUSBAND  : — "Mother's  postscript"  is 
only  to  say,  that  a  Mr.  (Ilover  has  made  an  offer  for 
the  farm  here,  and  for  the  homestead,  which  your 
brother  thinks  a  v« TV  a'hanta_vtius  one  for  us.  I 
i  his  letter  with  this.  We  are  all  well.  Robert 
has  given  you  a  very  d< -tail* ••!  -<  count  of  our  move- 
iih-nts  aii-1  einployuicnts;  but  he  has  not  added  what 
my  heart  prompts  me  to  say,  that  our  children  are 
our  tiva-uivs — good,  obedient,  and  loving.  May  we 
not  claim  for  them  the  promise  which  belongs  to 
till-in  that  honour  father  and  mother!  And  may  it 
not  be  to  us  a  token,  a  prnvi-kntial  omen  of  success 
in  our  undertaking  ' 

Your's,  ever. 


36  LIFE   IX    THE 


CHAPTER  HI. 

NOTES   OP   WARMN-:. 

THE  winter  was  past  and  gone,  with  fill  its  cold 
storms  and  piercing  winds,  its  heavy  snows  and  blus- 
tering tempests.  The  noble  Connecticut,  for  three 
months  "in  icy  fetters  bound,"  was  release.!,  and 
its  blue  waters  were  floating  calmly  on  towards  the 
ocean,  glistening  in  the  bright  sunshine,  or  gently 
rippled  by  the  passing  breeze.  The  birds,  in  i, 
companies,  were  returning  from  their  winter  quar- 
ters. By  the  sides  of  fences,  and  about  sunny  door- 
steps, little  delicate  tufts  of  grass  were  starting,  fresh 
and  green  ;  and  the  garden-borders  were  gay  with 
bright  pinks  and  daffodils,  mingled  with  the  crocus 
and  snowdrop. 

Spring  had  come  ;  and  an  early  spring  it  was. 
"It  could  not  last,"  and  "One  swallow  does 
make  a  summer  :"  so  the  weatherwise  o$es 
and  shook  their  heads;  but  it  did  last;  and 
swallows,  they  meant  beautiful,  warm,  sunshiny 
days,  there  were  a  dozen  of  these,  following  each 
other  in  rapid  succession.  It  was  safe  now  to  pro- 


LBNING.  37 


phesy  an  early  season,  for  it  was  already  there  ;  and 
bustle  and  life  it  brought  with  it.     Oh  !  how  much 
out-of-doors  playing  had  the  Laurelton  children  to 
do !     How  many  boys  there  were,  who,  under  the 
influence  of  that  balmy  vernal  air,  were   happy  in 
their  sports  !     How  many   little  groups  of  school- 
fellows loitered,  on  their  way  home,  to  exchungr 
pleasant  words  that  sprung  from  their  light,  in 
hearts !      Not   less    busy    were    the    older   people. 
^leivhants  had  taken  in  the  red  and  green  flannel 
hangings  about  their  doors,  and  put,  in  their  ]  ' 
the  bright  calicoes  and  brighter  ribbons.     ( 
ing  tools  were  in  demand,  and   the   fanners   I 
looking  after  their  ploughs  and  harrows,  wondering 
if  it  was  too  early  to  plant  their  fields ;  while  1 
housewives  were  busily  making  ready  for  th"  <um- 
mer,  with  their  white  curtains  laid  out  to  bleach  in 
the  sunshine. 

Amidst  all  this,  there  was  one  family  who  rcj<>Kv<l 
most  heartily  in  the  early  opening  of  the  season  ;  and 
that  was  Mr.  Moreton's.  He  had  returned  early  in 
January  from  his  Western  journey,  having  found 
and  purchased  a  farm  in  Indiana;  and, unlike  ni<»st 
N^-Englanders,  was  contented  not  to  go  as  far  a< 
sBwn  could  carry  him. 

This  farm  consisted  of  half  a  section  of  good  land, 
partly  lying  on  a  small  prairie,  and  partly  wooded. 
The  location  was  healthy;  the  distance  from  the 
village  of  Lakeland,  about  two  miles.  Lakeland 


38  LIFE   IN   THE 


was  a  county-seat,  and  was,  itself,  a  thriving  inte- 
rior village,  containing  between  three  and  four  hun- 
dred inhabitants,  who  had  been  brought  there  from 
many  countries,  impelled  by  diverse  motives,  un<l 
governed  by  various  tastes  and  habits;  so  that  it 
was  not  strange  that  there  should  be  exceedingly 
opposite  characteristics  in  society,  as  it  regarded  it- 
moral  and  intellectual  state.  Some  of  those  wants 
and  necessities  which  it  had  at  first  seemed  indispen- 
sable to  provide  for,  Mr.  Moreton  found  he  >hou! 
obliged  to  give  up;  for  the  supply  of  others  he  i 
wait;  and  for  some  of  them  he  was  ready  to  labour 
and  work  with  those  among  whom  he  was  to  li 
so  that  it  was  with  hope  for  the  future,  and  a  strong 
determination  to  heb^on  the  "  good  time  coming," 
rather  than  with  the  fueling  that  every  thing  was 
right  already,  that  he  concluded  to  locate  himself  at 
Lakeland.  But  we  must  leave  the  little  village,  with 
all  its  privileges  and  deficiencies,  for  another  chapter, 
and  go  back  to  our  friends,  who  were  rejoicing  in  the 
early  spring,  that  was  so  auspicious  for  their  journey. 
By  the  last  of  April,  their  preparations  for  re- 
moval were  completed,  and  they  were  about  ready  to 
start.  The  younger  children  were,  at  times,  imj 
tient  at  their  delay,  and  Robert  and  Henry 
every  fine  day,  that  it  was  time  lost  to  remain  any 
longer.  But  there  were  still  many  last  things  to  be 
done :  articles  to  be  disposed  of;  friends  to  see ; 
good-byes  to  be  spoken.  It  could  not  be  accom- 


nipa- 

10  IT, 


>TES   OF    WARM  39 


plished  hastily  and  well ;  and,  with  Mr.  Moreton,  a 
thing  that  was  not  done  well  was  not   considered 

Another  reason  for  delay  was,  that,  having  con- 
eluded  to  travel  with  their  household  goods,  it  be- 
came necessary  and  desirable  to  know  that  the  dif- 
ferent lines  of  transportation  had  completed  their 
MiiiiiH.-r  arrangements,  before  they  left  their  Xew- 

jland  home;    otherwise,   hindrances   that   \ 
unpleasant  might  H  'me  spent 

up-m  the  journey. 

To  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Moreton,  every  day  brought  with 
it  its  cares  and  its  labours;  and,  as  they  had  learned, 
from  actual  experience,  to  anticipate  Lett  from  oiuu 
than  their  children  did,  they  did  imt  ivgivt  the  de- 
lay which  gave  them  a  f«-\v  more  \vrck<  «.f  pl.-a-ant 
intercourse  with  tried  friends  and  acquaintances. 
N««t  a  ft-w  would  have  persuaded  them  to  remain 
quietly  where  they  were,  and  many  sought,  by  argu- 
ment and  advice,  to  lead  them  to  reconsider  their 
determination.  "  We  cannot  spare  you,"  said  their 
good  pastor,  as  he  and  a  few  of  their  intimate  friends 
wciv  gathered  in  their  little  parlor,  a  few  evenings 
before  their  departure.  "  We  cannot  spare  you.  I 
do  not  become  reconciled  to  your  going  away.  We 
need  you  here,  in  our  village-matters,  in  our  social 
gatherings,  in  our  church-meetings,  in  the  sanctuary, 
the  Sabbath-school,  and  our  pleasant  prayer-meet- 
ings. We  shall  miss  you  in  all  these.  Has  not 


40  LIFE   IN   THE 


God  given  you  a  work  to  do  here,  and  why  should 
you  seek  another  ?  Or  why  should  you  seek  for 
greater  blessings  than  he  has  here  bestowed  upon 
you?" 

"  I  have  no  reason  to  leave  my  New-England 
home  to  seek  for  blessings  or  mercies,"  replied  Mr. 
More  ton.  "  Our  lot  has  been  cast  in  a  pleasant  place. 
Yet,  regret  as  I  may  the  separation  from  my  friends, 
I  am  convinced  that  it  is  better  for  us  to  go.  If  I 
do  but  little  good  at  the  West,  my  children  will  have 
been  brought  up  there,  and,  as  Western  men  and 
women,  may  make  amends  for  all  my  deficiencies." 

There  was  a  brother  of  Mr.  Moreton's,  who,  from 
the  first,  had  discouraged  the  idea  of  the  family 
going  West;  and  he,  half  replying  to  Mr.  Moreton, 
half  soliloquizing,  said — 

"  But  you  will  all  be  sick,  and  either  die  in  that 
climate,  or  else  drag  on  a  miserable  life,  with  broken 
constitutions  and  impaired  health." 

u  Not  quite  so  bad  as  that,  I  hope,"  said  Dr. 
Newton,  who  had  just  arrived.  "No,  indeed!" 
said  he,  laying  aside  his  over-coat,  and  drawing 
nearer  the  fire.  "  While  journeying  West,  last 
summer,  I  found,  to  my  entire  satisfaction,  that 
there  is  reasbn  to  believe  the  climate  had  been 
much  belied." 

"  You  will  hardly  assert  that  it  can  be  called  a 
healthy  country,  though  ?"  pbserved  the  pastor. 

"  With  the  exception  of  fever  and  ague,  I  could 


ES   OF   WARNING.  41 


find  no  disease  that  might  be  said  to  belong  to  the 
climate  exclusively.       Cong'  ers  and  other 

epidemics  will  spread  over  villages  here,  as  well  as 
there,  and  many  will  die/' 

"  But  there  are  notoriously  unhealthy  regions 
throughout  the  West  ?" 

"I  know  that  well,"  replied  Dr.  Newton.  "A 
swamp  that  is  filled  with  rank  vegetation,  or  a  slug- 
gish stream,  with  its  green,  slimy  waters,  will  cause 
fevers  and  other  diseases.  But  with  such  localities 
no  wise  man  will  have  any  thing  to  do.  Kich  land, 
great  crops,  or  abundant  harvests  will  never  com- 
pensate for  the  loss  of  bodily  vigour.  But  all  the 
West  is  not  a  low,  swampy,  mar>hy  country.  There 
aredry, elevated  la:  ins; 

there  are  rich,  fertile  fields,  >tretching  for  miles  and 
hundreds  of  miles,  up"ii  which  the  sun  shines  day 
by  day,  and  about  which  no  deadly  miasma  hov 
and  which,  if  not  as  healthful  as  the  poorer  lands 
here  in  this  rocky  country,  yet  offer  no  hindrances 
to  those  who  would  settle  them,  on  account  of  their 
unhealthiness." 

"  Why  is  the  proportion  of  deaths  greater  there 
than  here  ?"  asked  Mr.  Alfred  More  ton. 

"  I  can  tell  you  one  reason  that  might  make  it  so, 
though  I  am  not  sure  that  it  is  true.  A  large  pro- 
portion of  the  emigrants  going  West  are  in  circum* 
stances  of  great  poverty  and  want.  Many  of  them 
have  already  become  prepared  for  disease,  by  a  long 


42  LIFE   IN   THE 


and  wearisome  voyage.  Their  means  are  barely 
sufficient  to  enable  them  to  reach  their  destination 
and  purchase  their  farms.  They  must  necessarily 
suffer  from  privation  and  exposure.  Their  food  is 
poorly  prepared,  and  they  are  not  guarded  from 
changes  of  weather.  It  is  no  wonder  that  they 
sicken.  Then  bad  nursing  and  the  imprudent  use 
of  powerful  medicines  prolong  their  sicknesses,  and 
often  death  kindly  ends  the  struggle.  Then,  another 
class  of  emigrants  are  healthy,  stout  young  people, 
from  the  Eastern  States.  They  are,  through  igno- 
rance of  sickness,  imprudent,  as  regards  exposure, 
and  only  desire  to  make  money  fast.  If  there  are 
facilities  for  carrying  on  a  mill,  what  do  they  think 
about  the  marsh  beyond  ?  Just  nothing  at  all !  And 
the  richer  and  blacker  the  earth,  so  much  the  more 
promise  of  great  harvests.  They  are  in  haste  to  be 
rich  •  and  will  throw  their  lives,  which  no  wealth 
could  purchase,  under  that  Juggernaut  of  Christian 
lands — the  god  of  money — for  the  sake  of  gain.  If 
they  are  crushed,  must  the  climate  take  all  the 
blame?" 

"  There  must  be  something  to  compensate  for  the 
giving  up  of  their  homes,  and  to  pay  for  the  loss  of 
luxuries  and  comforts  that  a  man  relinquishes  when 
he  leaves  civilized  life  and  goes  into  the  woods. 
What  would  you  have  this  something  to  be,  if  not 
gain  in  wealth  ?" 

"  Freedom  from  heavy  duties  imposed  by  govern- 


•DTES  OF  WARN  IN  43 

ment,  and  the  blessing  of  that  equality  which  is 
recognised  by  our  Constitution,  the  poor  emigrant 
from  foreign  countries  would  consider  an  equivalent 
for  all  he  has  given  up.  Add  to  this  the  liberty  to 
worship  God  in  his  u\vn  way,  without  molestation  or 
fear ;  and,  if  he  has  suffered,  as  most  likely  he  will 
have  done,  he  will  be  satisfied.  To  others,  t In-l- 
ine comfort  of  having  a  little  money  go  far  in  secur- 
ing to  their  families  the  necessaries  of  life,  and  of 
feeling  that  poverty  is  no  degradation." 

"  But  these  are  a  poor  man's  blessings;  and  bless- 
ings I  ackuov\  in  to  be.  Yet,  why  should 
a  man  whose  education  has  fitted  him  to  move  in  a 
large  circle,  whose  habits  are  those  formed  by  0 
ventional  usages,  and  who-  ivtin-'d  and 
intellectual — why  should  he  leave  a  home,  such  as 
we  enjoy,  go  far  away  from  all  his  social  and  reli- 
gious privileges,  to  a  place  where  his  very  acquire- 
ments and  knowledge  will  be  a  hindrance  to  him, 
his  tastes  and  habits  only  sources  of  annoyance,  be- 
cause ungratified,  and  where  a  strong  back  and  a 
stout  arm  are  the  only  personal  things  that  can  avftil 
for  his  help?" 

"  Why  do  we  need  the  best  corn  for  seed,  and 
why  do  we  seek  a  field  to  plant  it  in  that  has  lain 
fallow  and  unused  ?  At  the  West,  every  well-regu- 
lated family  is  like  seed  sown  in  good  ground. 
Their  example  cannot  fail  to  influence  others. 
Oftentimes,  those  who  could  not  be  driven  to  indus- 

4* 


M 

44  LIFE   IN    THE    WES* 


try  and  sobriety,  can  be  lured  to  both  l.y  th.-  sight 
of  the  prosperity  which  follows  good  habits,  as  evi- 
dence in  their  favour.  A  Christian  family,  if  con- 
sistent, can  do  still  more.  The  good  they  do  is  upon 
a  sure  foundation;  and  God  has  wi^-ly  ordered  it 
that  such  families  shall  be  scattered  here  and  there. 
As  to  the  objection,  that  education  and  accoinpli.-h- 
ments  are  lost  there,  I  do  not  agree  with  you.  I 
believe  that  there  is  no  gift  of  God  to  th««  in t .licet 
of  man,  and  no  acquirement  or  accpjpplishment, 
which  may  not  be  made  as  available  there  as  here 
for  the  promotion  of  happiness  and  prosperity. 
And,  while  I  may  not  go  there  myself,  I  honour 
those  who  are  willing  to  go,  and  who  have  the  cou- 
rage to  enable  them  to  meet  the  trials  and  disap- 
pointments that  a  removal  will  bring." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  right,"  replied  the  pas- 
tor; "and,  unwilling  as  I  am  to  lose  our  friends 
from  our  circle,  I  must  be  satisfied  to  see  them  de- 
part, and  bid  them  God-speed.  But  I  do  not  often 
have  a  greater  trial  to  my  own  will,  than  that  which 
I  felt  when  writing  these  for  you ;" — and  he  laid  upon 
the  table  certificates  of  church-membership  for  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Moreton,  Mary,  and 'Henry,  and  letters 
of  recommendation  to  the  care  and  good  offices  of 
any  church  to  which  they  might  be  presented ; 
"especially,"  he  added,  "as  you  will  now  be  as 
sheep  without  a  shepherd." 

"  Shall  we  not  still  be  under  the  care  of  the  great 


DTK-    (iF    WARM  45 


Shepherd,  and  does  he  suffer  any  ill  to  befall  those 
with  whom  he  has  run-red  into  covenant?"  asked 
Mrs.  Moreton.  "  You  will,  yourself,  implore  for  us 
his  guidance  ;  and,  l  under  the  covert  of  his  wings/ 
we  shall  be  safe  there  as  here." 

It  was  not  without  a  struggle  that  the  good  pas- 
tor yielded  up,  to  what  he  considered  ti  lite  of  toil 
and  danger,  these  precious  members  of  his  own 
flock.  As  he  departed,  it  was  with  great  emotion 
that  he  clasped  the  extended  hands  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Moreton  within  his  own,  and,  in  so: 
tones,  tremulous  with  tVviiinr,  repeated  the  beautiful 
scriptural  benediction  : 

"  The  Lord  bless  thee,  and  keep  thee.  The  Lord 
make  his  face  shine  upon  thee,  and  be  gracious 
unto  thee.  The  Lord  lift  up  his  countenance  upon 
thee,  and  give  thee  peace."* 

*  Num.  vi.  21—26. 


46  LIFE   IN   THE   WES' 


T- 


CHAPTER  IV. 

DR.  NEWTON. 

"  I,  TOO,  came  with  a  parting  gift,  accompanied 
with  a  dose  of  advice/'  said  Dr.  Newton,  as  the  door 
closed  upon  their  beloved  minister.  "  My  work  is 
done,  as  you  desired,  Mrs.  Moreton." 

And  saying  this,  he  placed  upon  the  table  a  small, 
square  mahogany  box,  which  he  opened  with  a  po- 
lished key,  and  displayed  a  small,  but  well-selected 
stock  of  medicines. 

"I  have  added  to  this/'  he  continued,  "as  my 
gift,  this  little  manual  of  medicine ;  and  my  advice 
to  you  is  to  take  as  little  of  the  contents  of  the  box 
as  possible;  for/'  he  added,  playfully,  "medicine 
without  a  doctor  is  often  worse  than  no  medicine  at 
all.  If  you  find  a  good  doctor  in  Lakeland,  throw 
away  or  burn  up  the  book,  as  you  please." 

"  I  cannot  burn  up  the  recollection  of  valuable 
hints  that  I  have  received  from  you,  Dr.  Newton; 
and,  if  we  are  really  sick,  I  shall  doubtless  rely 
more  upon  what  I  have  already  learned  than  upon 
the  book  or  the  new  doctor." 

"But  you  are  not  going  to  be  sick,  I  hope/' 


DR.  NEWTON.  47 


replied  Dr.  Xewton.  "  A  family  of  healthy  boys 
and  girls,  like  yours,  brought  up  to  love  habits  of 
regularity  and  order,  with  little  inclination  to  pam- 

'iit-ir  appetites,  and  supplied  with  the  means  to 
insure  a  comfortably  wholesome  living,  will  not 

i  IKI  vi>ited  with  any  distressing  sickness.  Do 
you  hear,  boys?"  he  added;  "don't  think  that  you 
can  spend  your  summer  e\eiiinirs  out  of  doors,  or  go 
tramping  through  the  wet  swamps  and  woods  before 
sunrise,  to  shoot  the  poor  little  birds.  And  you, 
31  i-  -Mary,  must  give  up  sentimental  rambling  by 
moonlight,  even  if  those  old  forest-haunts  bewitch 
and  entice  you.  Let  the  sun  give  the  air  a  good 
cooking,  before  you  take  too  much  of  it." 

"  It  was  you,  Dr.  Xewton,  that  first  taught  me 
that 

'  Early  to  bed,  and  early  to  rise, 
Is  the  way  to  be  healthy,  wealthy,  and  wise.' " 

"  You  are  duller  than  I  think,  Miss  Mary,"  an- 
swered Dr.  Newton,  "  if  you  can  see  no  difference 
between  not  going  out  of  doors  and  not  getting  up 
early.  It  will  do  Robert  and  Henry  good  to  chop 
a  little  wood  in  the  wood-house  or  work  in  the  barn; 
and  I  expect  that  your  talents  will  be  devoted  to  the 
preparing  a  good  breakfast  when  they  come  in. 
Some  of  these  days,  I  will  come  and  partake  of  one 
with  you." 

Exclamations  of,  " Will  you,  indeed?"    "Oh! 


48  LIFE   IN   THE 

will  you?"  and  "How  happy  it  will  make  us!" 
broke  from  the  lips  of  all. 

"Yes,  if  I  live,  I  will  certainly  pay  you  a  visit, 
after  you  are  fairly  settled;  but  mind,  Mi.--  Mary! 
I  must  have  good  light  bread — none  of  your  warm 
biscuits  or  griddle-cakes  !  I  must  have  a  cliamln-r, 
too,  to  sleep  in.  I  do  not  like  bed-rooms  on  the  first 
floor,  especially  in  that  Western  country.  They 
cannot  be  as  airy  or  well  ventilated  as  upper  rooms, 
and  there  is  always  a  dampness  about  them,  which 
comes  from  the  ground.  Let  the  sun  shin*;  into 
your  house  a  part  of  every  day.  Be  regular  in  your 
habits  of  work,  as  well  as  of  rest.  In  eating,  drink- 
ing, and  sleeping,  live,  as  nearly  as  possible,  as  you 
have  been  accustomed  to;  and  if  the  sunshine  of 
faith  and  trust  in  a  good  Providence  warm  your 
hearts  and  lighten  your  path,  you  will  have  the  best 
preventives  of  sickness  that  I  know  of." 

"  Will  a  contented  mind  keep  off  fever  and  ague  ?" 
asked  Robert. 

"  It  will  help  you  to  bear  it  patiently ;  and  that 
is  a  great  gain,  if  you  ever  have  it.  But  I  am  a 
doctor,  not  a  preacher,  Robert;  and  I  tell  you, 
plainly,  that  if  you  are  neither  rash  nor  imprudent, 
you  may  live  many  years,  and  never  suffer  from  it  at 
all.  Perhaps,  if  it  should  come,  you  will  find  that  it 
is  not  so  very  hard,  after  all,  to  bear." 

"  You  are  an  encouraging  friend,  Dr.  Newton/' 
said  Mr.  Moreton ;  "  and,  if  all  our  neighbours 


DR.  NEWTON.  49 


viewed  this  matter  of  emigration  as  you  do,  we 
might  be  saved  some  of  those  fears  and  anxieties 
concerning  the  future  that,  I  confess,  they  some- 
times compel  me  to  feel.  But  we  are  fairly  com- 
mitted for  the  change,  now,  and  I  have  no  desire  to 
imitate  Lot's  wife,  and  'look  back.'  " 

"  Nor  do  I  believe  you  will  have  any  thing  • 
gret,  after  you  are  once  there.  I  am  no  proplu't, 
but  I  think  I  foresee  for  you  all  many  h:ippy  and 
perous  days.  If  wishes  could  bring  them  to 
you,  they  certainly  would  be  yours.  The  same 
hand  which  has  directed  you  thus  far,  in  making 
the  change,  will  guide  you  step  by  step,  and  all  you 
need  will  He  supply  from  his  abundance.  Wr  can 
ask  nothing  more  or  better  than  his  guardianship, 
for  you,  who  go,  or  for  ourselves,  who  remain.  Now 
for  your  plans  :  what  are  they  ?" 

"  We  propose  to  let  Henry  and  Robert  start  early 
next  week,  with  our  boxes  and  chests,  for  Albany, 
by  water.  As  soon  as  we  hear  of  their  arrival  at 
that  place,  we  shall  join  them  as  expeditiously  as 
possible.  Then  all  take  the  canal,  and  go  to  Buffalo. 
From  there,  across  Lake  Erie,  to  whichever  port  we 
shall  decide  to  be  most  desirable — Toledo,  Monroe, 
or  Detroit.  There  we  shall  fit  ourselves  out  with 
what  are  called  '  emigrant  fixings/  and  travel  south- 
west to  our  place  of  destination/' 

"  The  last  part  of  your  journey  will  be  the  most 
fatiguing." 


50  LIFE   IN   THE    WEST/ 

"  I  am  aware  of  that,"  said  Mrs.  Moreton  ;  "  and 
yet  I  enter  into  the  feelings  and  anticipations  of  the 
children,  in  thinking  that  it  will  be  the  pleasantest 
of  all ;  for  it  will  have  the  charm  of  novelty,  with 
all  its  freshness." 

"There  is  something  so  delightful  in  the  thought 
of  beginning  life  afresh,"  said  Dr.  Newton,  "it 
wakens  up  in  my  mind  an  almost  childish  enthu- 
siasm, and  I  really  should  like  to  go  with  you;  but 
my  good  wife  says,  nay  ;  and,  while  her  aged  par 

,e  ought  not  to  give  it  a  moment's  thought." 

£till  later  in  the  evening,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  M<u 
with  their  three  older  children,  were  gathered  around 
the  little  blaze  that  faintly  flickered  on  the  hearth. 
A  large  part  of  the  furniture  belonging  to  the  room 
had  been  removed,  and  it  contained  only  Mich  articles 
as  were  absolutely  necessary  for  daily  use.  Thoughts 
of  the  friends  who  had  just  parted  from  them  had 
taken  the  place  of  anticipations  for  the  future;  and 
their  words  of  interest  and  advice  were  the  subject 
of  their  thoughts.  Mary  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"Father,"  said  she,  "why  is  it  that  Dr.  Newton 
and  Uncle  Alfred  take  such  different  views  of  life 
at  the  West  ?  They  have  both  been  there,  and  are 
both  clear-headed  and  intelligent  men ;  yet  one  says 
we  shall  prosper  and  be  happy,  while  the  other  pro- 
phesies misery  and  sickness  !" 

"The  two  men  are  of  different  temperaments 
naturally,  Mary.  Dr.  Newton  is  active,  hopeful, 


DR.  NEWTON.  51 

bound  down  by  no  habits  of  luxury  which  have  be- 
come necessary  to  his  comfort,  and  possesses  good 
health.  Then,  he  is  what  is  termed  a  self-made 
man,  and  is  accustomed  to  moot  and  to  conquer  dif- 
ficulties. Your  uncle  is  in  feeble  health,  and  his 
home  has,  ever  since  his  youth,  been  supplied  with 
all  that  wealth  can  purchase.  Kvery  want  has  ' 
met,  and  every  wish  gratified  ;  while  his  love  for  us 
makes  his  fears  the  greater,  le.-t  we  should  suffer. 
Look  about  this  room,  now,  and  think  how  differ- 
ently the  two  men  would  regard  it.  One  would 
think  that  it  had  every  thing  in  it  that  we  required, 
because  there  were  tables,  carpet,  and  chairs;  the 
other  would  deem  it  unfurnished  and  comfortless, 
because  the  sofa,  rocking-chairs,  and  astral-lamp  were 
gone/' 

"But  which  thinks  rightly  about  it?"  asked 
Robert. 

"  I  have  that  confidence  in  the  judgment  of  both 
which  leads  me  to  adopt  modified  views  of  both 
opinions,  and  endeavour  to  strike  the  medium  be- 
tween them.  Doubtless,  we  shall  find  that,  in  many 
things,  their  estimates  of  our  pleasures  and  trials  are 
correct ;  but  it  is  not  necessary  that  we  look  through 
the  spectacles  of  the  one  or  the  other,  while  we  have 
our  own  honest  eyes.  There  are  few  troubles  in 
this  world  which  a  habit  of  looking  upon  the  bright 
side  will  not  lighten  or  disperse;  and  there  are  sunny 
spots  in  everybody's  life,  if  there  is  not  the  dispo- 


52  LIFE   IN   THE    v 


sition  to  overshadow  them  with  the  clouds  of  de- 
spondency and  doubt." 

"But  do  not  strong  hopes  and  ardent  expectations 
often  become  disappointments  ?" 

"  Certainly,  they  do ;  for  such  hopes  and  ex; 
tions  are  not  ordinarily  basedvupon  reason.     There 
is  a  something,  which  we  call  t-nmn-  im- 

planted in  the  mind  of  man.  This  is  given  to  us  as 
a  guide,  and,  through  experience  and  education,  is, 
or  ought  to  be,  daily  improving.  If,  contrary  to  its 
teachings,  we  let  our  imaginations  run  away  with  our 
hopes,  we  ought  not  to  complain  if  the  realities  of 
life  will  not  keep  pace  with  them.  If  we  found  our 
hopes  upon  what  we  know  to  be  fixed  facts  and 
principles,  and  hold  them  (as  dependent  creatures 
should  hold  all  they  possess)  subject  to  the  will  of 
an  all-wise  Dispenser,  there  is  little  fear  of  great 
and  heart-crushing  disappointments." 

"  Then  I  suppose,"  said  Mary,  "  that  when  my 
common  sense,  which  has  been  educated  by  ex] 
ence,  tells  me  that,  if  I  sit  up  any  later  to-night,  I 
shall  be  tired  and  sleepy  to-morrow,  I  Lad  better 
obey  its  counsels,  and  seek  my  pillow,  notwith- 
standing my  hopes  would  lead  me  to  consult  my 
pleasure,  by  talking  longer." 

"  Quite  a  timely,  practical  illustration,"  said  her 
father ;  "  and  I,  to  encourage  so  laudable  an  exer- 
cise of  your  common  sense,  will  light  you  a  candle." 

And  they  laughingly  bade  each  other  "Good 
night !" 


UNCLE  ALFRED'S  GIFT.  53 


CHAPTER  V. 

UNCLE  ALFRED'S  GIFT. 

"  A  GIFT  !  a  gift !"  shouted  Frank,  as  he  entered 
the  sitting-room,  the  next  day.  "  A  gift  to  each 
of  us  children,  from  Uncle  Alfred,  of  which  I  am  the 
bearer!" 

"It  must  be  a  small  one,"  said  llobert;  "for  you 
bear  nothing  in  your  hand  !" 

"But  I  do  in  my  pocket,  Robert;"  and  he  took, 
with  great  care,  from  it,  a  small  package,  upon 
which  was  written,  "  To  be  equally  divided  between 
my  nephews  and  nieces." 

It  did  not  take  many  minutes  to  undo  the  fasten- 
ings, which  enclosed  a  sum  of  money,  upon  counting 
which  it  was  found  to  give  to  each  the  amount  of 
five  dollars. 

"Where  did  you  get  this,  Frank?"  asked  Mr. 
Moreton. 

"  Uncle  asked  me  what  I  would  like  as  a  parting 
gift  from  him,  and  I  answered  that  I  could  not  de- 
cide without  thinking  awhile ;  for  that  you,  father, 
had  often  told  me  never  to  make  up  my  mind  in  a 
hurry.  Then  he  went  to  his  desk,  got  this  money, 


54  LIFE   IN    THE    WEST. 

and  gave  it  to  me ;  and  said  that  I  must  tell  you  all 
that  he  sent  it,  and  wished  each  of  us  to  choose  for 
ourselves  some  present  that  would  please  us,  as  a 
remembrance  of  him." 

"  We  hardly  need  it  for  that  purpose/'  said  Mary. 
"  Uncle  Alfred  will  not  be  forgotten,  I  am  sure/' 

"I  will  tell  you  what  I  shall  buy,"  >:ii<l  I-' rank  to 
Mary :  "  a  nice  little  writing-desk,  for  you  and  me. 
My  money  will  just  pay  for  one." 

"  Then,  Frank,  if  I  am  to  use  your  writing-desk, 
my  money  shall  go  as  a  subscription  to  some  maga- 
zine that  we  shall  both  like  to  read/' 

"  I  shall  buy  a  pony,"  said  Willie,  "  with  an  ele- 
gant bridle  and  saddle;  and,  beside" — 

"  There  was  a  burst  of  merriment  from  the  assem- 
bled children,  as  Willie  spoke.  It  la^t.-.l  but  a 
moment,  for  Mr.  Moreton's  voice  rose  above  it. 

"  Your  plan  is  too  magnificent  for  your  money, 
my  son,  and  you  will  have  to  give  it  up.  Five 
dollars  is  a  great  sum  for  a  boy  like  you  to  possess; 
but  it  will  buy  neither  a  pony  nor  a  saddle/' 

Discomfited  as  Willie  was,  and  annoyed  by  the 
mischievous  glances  of  his  brothers  and  sisters,  his 
good  nature  did  not  fail,  and,  laughing  with  the 
rest,  he  only  said — 

"  You  will  all  lose  many  a  good  ride,  then ;  that 
is  all/' 

"  Why  don't  you  buy  some  candy  ?"  asked 
Alice. 


UNCLE  ALFRED'S  GIFT.  55 


Little  Alice  bad  not  relished  the  laugh  at  her 
brother's  expense,  and  unconsciously  took  the 
readiest  way  to  divert  attention  from  him;  for  they 
were  all  in  that  excited  state  of  mind,  when  every 
incident  would  furnish  food  for  gleeful  merriment. 

"Your  plan  is  no  better  than  Willie's,  my  dar- 
ling/' said  her  father,  caressing  her.  "  While  ho 
aims  at  too  much,  you  go  to  the  other  extreme,  and 
would  get  too  little  for  your  money." 

"  What  can  we  buy,  then  ''"  asked  Alice,  impa- 
tiently. 

"Nothing,  to-night,  Alice;  but  you  can  keep 
your  money  until  you  know  what  you  want.  There 
is  no  necessity  of  spending  it  for  several  days,  and 
you  can  think  about  it." 

"I  have  a  plan  to  propose/'  said  Robert;  "and 
I  think  it  will  please  Uncle  Alfred,  as  well  as  our- 
<  s.  Let  us,  each  one,  contribute  a  dollar  apiece, 
for  a  newspaper  fund;  and  then,  one  or  two  dollars, 
as  we  please,  for  a  book  fund ;  then  let  us  appoint 
committees  to  buy  some  books,  that  are  new,  for  our 
family  library,  and  to  decide  upon  a  newspaper  and 
magazine,  for  which  to  subscribe  for  the  year." 

"  I  like  that,"  said  Frank. 

"  We  may  take  one  or  two  newspapers ;  and  they 
will  come  every  week,  like  visits  from  Uncle  Al- 
fred"— 

Here  Willie  and  Frank,  instigated  by  Charlie, 
clapped  their  hands,  and  cried,  "  Hear  !  hear  I" 

6* 


56  LIFE   IN  THE   WEST. 


"  With  the  rest  of  the  money,  we  can  each  buy 
something  which  pleases  us,  to  keep  as  tokens  of 
Uncle  Alfred's  remembrance  of  us ;  or  we  can  use 
it  as  spending-money ;  or,  dividing  it,  can  use  it  for 
both  purposes." 

There  was  not  a  dissenting  voice ;  and  when,  in 
regular  business-like  order,  the  vote  was  taken,  it 
was  declared  unanimous.  Robert  and  Frank  were 
appointed  a  committee  to  select  books;  Mary  and 
Henry  to  decide  upon  the  newspapers ;  and  here,  as 
well  as  elsewhere,  may  we  mention,  that  faithfully 
did  they  fulfil  their  offices,  making  such  a  judicious 
selection  as  pleased  every  one,  and,  through  the 
long  winter  evenings,  adding  to  their  pleasure,  as 
well  as  to  their  knowledge. 

There  were  little  after-scenes,  between  the  differ- 
ent members  of  that  family,  to  which  we  will  be 
witnesses 

"  This  breaks  up  my  plan,  Mary,"  said  Frank ; 
"  for  I  have  not  money  enough  left  to  get  even  a 
plain  writing-desk." 

"But,  together,  we  have,  Frank;  and  I  was  just 
thinking  how  much  pleasanter  it  would  be  to  really 
buy  it  together,  so  that  it  might  seem  equally  to 
belong  to  both." 

"  Dear  Mary,  will  you  go  to  the  store  with  me, 
to-morrow,  that  I  may  buy  some  silks  and  worsteds, 
and  other  little  things?  for  I  must  tell  you  my 
secret — now  I  shall  be  able  to  make  that  pincushion 


i.E  ALFRED'S  GIFT.  57 


for  mother,  against  next  X<  \v  Year;  and,  beside,  I 
.shall  have  time  to  Jo  many  other  little  pieces  of 
work,  while  you  are  all  busy  with  the  new  house, 
and  I  shall  be  alone." 

Mary  willingly  consented;  and  Annie's  dark  eyes 

brightened,  and  her  cheek  flushed,  with  the  hope  of 

;g  able  to  give  pleasure  to  those  she  loved,  by  the 

f  her  needle 

ther,"  said  William,  as  he  sat  contemplating 
the  pictures  upon  his  bank-bill,  "why  does  the 
Bible  say  that  money  is  the  root  of  all  evil '{  It 
brings  us  much  pleasure,  and  helps  us  to  obtain 
many  good  things/' 

"  The  Bible  does  not  say  that  money  is  the  root 
of  all  evil,  my  son.  It  says  the  love  of  money  is; 
and  it  is  an  important  distinction.  Money  (gold, 
silver,  and  copper  coin)  is  our  medium  of  circulation. 
With  it,  (or  with  bank-notes,  which,  for  convenience, 
have  taken  the  place  of  coin  any 

article  which  we  may  desire,  giving  it  in  exchange 
for  such  things  as  we  think  will  add  to  our  comfort, 
our  pleasure,  or  our  convenience.  This  you  know 
very  well;  and  you  know  as  well  that  money  or 
riches  are  unequally  divided.  From  some,  God  has 
seen  fit  to  withhold  them ;  while  to  others  he  has 
committed  an  overflowing  abundance.  Why  he  has 
done  this,  we  do  not  know,  any  more  than  we  know 
why  he  gives  one  health  and  another  sickness,  one 
happiness  and  another  trouble.  A  wise  man,  and  a 


58  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


Christian,  will  believe  that  God  has  some  purpose  in 
this,  and  that  these  differences  do  not  come  from 
chance;  and  will  be  contented  and  happy  with  such 
a  portion  of  this  world's  goods  as  his  own  honest 
efforts  shall  secure  to  him.  There  are  others,  to 
whom  a  want  of  money  is  a  great  evil;  for  it 
awakens  in  their  hearts  such  strong  desires  for  its 
possession,  and  such  love  for  it,  that  they  will  be 
ready  to  envy  or  hate  those  who  possess  it ;  they 
become  covetous  and  miserly,  from  setting  an  inor- 
dinate value  upon  it;  they  become  grasping  and 
dishonest,  from  their  determination  to  be  rich ;  and 
some  will  cheat,  lie,  steal,  or  even  murder,  for  the 
purpose  of  attaining  it.  With  such  consequences 
resulting  from  the  love  of  money,  is  it  strange  that 
it  should  be  called  '  the  root  of  all  evil  ?' ;J 

" But  is  it  not  a  good  thing  to  be  rich,  father?" 
"  Yes,  my  son ;  money  is  a  blessing,  and  should 
be  sought  after,  as  we  seek  after  other  blessings.  But 
its  possession  often  leads  to  evil :  for  instance,  if  it 
makes  its  possessor  proud  or  haughty,  or  hard- 
hearted and  uncharitable,  or  if  it  leads  him  to  be 
wise  in  his  own  conceit.  It  is  its  abuse  that  leads 
to  these  consequences.  It  may  also  be  abused,  by 
scattering  it  with  a  heedless,  thoughtless  hand,  or 
by  spending  it  for  that  which  will  do  harm  to  our- 
selves or  others.  If  we  desire  to  be  rich  to  gain  the 
admiration  of  others,  or  wish  to  excite  their  envy,  it 
becomes  to  us  a  root  of  evil,  which  we  may  well  fear 


UNCLK  AI.FRKD'S  GIFT.  59 


to  have  increase  and  grow  in  our  hearts.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  if  we  desire  it  only  to  gratify  cur  natural 
wants,  to  add  to  our  innocent  plea.-uivs.  to  give  us 
the  means  to  make  others  happy,  and  to  extend  our 
power  of  doing  good,  we  may  seek  for  it  earnestly, 
and  labour  for  it ;  and,  if  God  blesses  our  efforts, 
we  may  and  ought  to  enjoy  it,  as  one  of  the  mercies 
with  which  he  has  crowned  our  lives,  and  which 
should  be  used  as  we  think  will  best  please  him." 

"  Robert  thought  of  pleasing  Uncle  Alfred  in  his 
plan  of  spending  our  money,  father.  Is  it  in  such 
a  way  that  every  rich  man  ought  to  think  of  pleas- 
ing God?" 

"  Yes,  the  principle  is  the  same ;  and  it  is  a  sure 
test  of  gratitude,  if  the  donor's  wishes  are  consulted 
in  our  thoughts  and  plans,  before  making  use  of  his 
gifts.  Your  Uncle  Alfred  would  not  think  you  very 
grateful,  if  you  threw  away  his  gift ;  neither  would 
he  think  you  valued  it  properly,  if  you  should  give^ 
it  in  exchange  for  what  was  not  of  half  its  value. 
He  would  not  be  pleased,  if  you  spent  it  for  what 
would  harm  you ;  or  even  if  you  should  put  it  away 
in  your  strong-box,  and  never  use  it  at  all.  It  would 
be  far  more  gratifying  to  him  to  know  that  you  made 
it  add  to  your  pleasures,  or  did  good  with  it  in  some 
way.  Do  not  you  see  how  you  can  apply  all  this 
to  the  case  of  a  rich  man's  use  of  his  property,  so  as 
to  please  and  honour  God  ?" 

"  I  think  I  do,  sir.     I  should  like  to  be  rich, 


60  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


though  !  It  seems  so  pleasant  to  have  every  thing 
one  wants,  just  when  they  want  it.  I  think  I  should 
try  to  spend  my  money  so  as  to  get  a  great  deal  of 
good  from  it." 

"  We  can  tell  about  that  better  when  we  see  how 
you  spend  your  five  dollars." 

"  I  must  try  to  remember  to  get  something  which 
I  think  will  please  Uncle  Alfred,  please  myself,  be 
good  to  use,  or  good  to  keep." 

So  thought  and  so  said  Willie  Mon'toii,  as  lie 
retired.  And,  as  for  'his  brother  Charlie,  who  sat 
near  by  and  heard  this — what  were  his  tin  MIL 

"  My  mind  is  made  up.  I  must  buy  Bob  Palmer's 
dog!  Bob  offered  it  to  Samuel  Frink  for  a  dollar. 
That  is  it,  exactly.  It  will  please  Uncle  Alfivl, 
who  loves  dogs.  It  will  please  me.  It  will  be  a 
good  thing  to  keep,  and  a  good  thing  to  use,  plea- 
sant to  own,  and  very  useful."  And,  with  high 
hopes  of  future  pleasure,  it  was  with  difficulty  he 
refrained  from  waking  Willie,  to  tell  him  all  about 
it.  With  visions  of  Carlo  dragging  Annie  on  a 
little  sled,  and  of  Carlo  in  the  woods  with  him,  he 
laid  his  head  upon  his  pillow,  feeling  as  if  he  had 
nearly  reached  the  pinnacle  of  human  happiness. 


THE  DEPABTURE.  61 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   DEPARTURE. 

"  IT  really  seems  as  if  we  were  fated  never  to 
start!"  said  Frank,  impatiently.  "I  am  tired  of 
thinking  and  talking  about  going,  and  never  getting 
off!" 

"  If  you  are  tired,  Frank,  who  are  only  a  looker- 
on,  think  what  father  and  mother  mu>t  be,  who 
have  all  the  care  and  so*  much  of  the  labour  !  I 
thought,  last  evening,  when  I  saw  how  tired  they 
were,  that  they  were  trying  every  day  to  do  more 
than  they  ought." 

Frank  was  fretful,  and  Mary's  reply  fell  upon  his 
ear  like  a  reproof,  to  which  he  had  no  heart  to 
listen. 

"  You  are  all  just  alike,"  said  he ;  "  slow,  slow — 
never  ready  !" 

But  hardly  had  he  given  utterance  to  these  words 
of  impatience,  before  he  regretted,  and  would  have 
recalled  them,  for  he  saw  tears  in  Mary's  eyes.  At 
first,  he  thought  he  would  take  no  notice  of  them, 
turn  away,  and  make  believe  that  he  did  not  see 
them.  He  had  tried  this  plan  many  times  before, 


62  LIFE   IN    THE    WEST. 


but  had  never  found  it  to  answer  the  purpose  of 
satisfying  his  own  conscience.  This  he  remem- 
bered, and  his  better  feelings  prevailed. 

"  I  did  not  mean  just  so,  Mary ;  but  I  do  wish 
we  could  get  off!  I  am  so  tired  of  waiting  !" 

u  So  are  we  all,  Frank ;  and  the  only  way  to  con- 
tent ourselves  is  to  keep  busy.  Suppose,  now,  you 
draw  a  picture  of  the  old  house  and  place,  before  we 
go.  That  will  be  better  than  getting  tired  of  doing 
nothing,  and  then  complaining  about  it." 

Some  of  our  readers  may  be  of  Frank's  opinion,  and 
think  that  we  are  protracting  our  account  of  prepara- 
tion, without  regard  to  their  feelings;  and  it  may  be  a 
relief  to  them  to  know  that  on  the  second  Monday 
of  May,  18 — ,  there  was  a  final  breaking  up  in  the 
homestead  of  Mr.  James  Moreton.  Before  the 
evening  of  that  day,  they  had  said  good-bye  to  all 
the  near  neighbours,  and  taken  a  farewell  of  all  the 
old  haunts  of  their  childish  sports.  They  had  gone 
over  the  now  empty  chambers,  even  into  the  garret, 
and  looked  out,  for  the  last  time,  from  the  little 
dormer-window,  upon  the  fair  fields  and  the  old  or- 
chard beneath.  They  had  been  to  the  wood-hou.se  ; 
the  little  room  that  they  used  for  a  workshop  had 
been  visited ;  the  old  red  barn,  the  scene  of  many  a 
noisy  romping  frolic,  had  received  a  last,  parting  visit; 
they  had  gazed  once  more  into  the  depths  of  the 
well,  and  taken  a  merry  bumper  in  honour  of  the 
old  place,  and  pledged  themselves,  in  its  cold,  clear 


THE    DEPARTURE.  63 


waters,  to  stand  by  the  new  home  in  Iloosier-land : 
and  now  they  were  ready  to  go. 

r  there  were  mingled  emotions  of  pain  and 
sorrow  with  all  their  golden  anticipations  of  the 
feelings,  in  which  hope,  wonder,  and 
curi.»ity  struggled  with  the  tender  p-ief  at  parting 
from  what  was  dear  to  them,  and  hallowed  by  the 
l"Yr  <>f  rhildhood.  The  past  was  as  a  pleasant  reality  ! 
What  would  be  the  future  ?  Would  its  promises 
be  fulfilled  ?  Were  its  bright  shadows  to  end  in 
dreams,  or  would  they  too  become  real  ?  Who 
could  tell  y 

Sunset  found  them  all  scattered.      Henry  and 
Robert  were  gone,  and,  with  them,  the  last  of  the 
boxes,  the  trunks,  the  ham-Is  and  tin- chests.    The  key 
had  been  delivered  to  the  new  owner  of  the  pi; 
and  the   remaining   members  of  the  family  \v 
already  divided  among  friends  and  relatives,  for  a 
visit  of  the  few  days  that  must  intervene  before  they 
should  hear  from  Robert. 

It  matters  not  that  we  should  follow  them  through 
the  detail  of  leave-taking.  They  were  beloved  and 
honoured ;  their  destination  was  far  away ;  they 
were  not  to  return ;  and  it  was  not  strange  that 
there  should  be  some  sad  hearts,  some  tears  shed, 
some  expressions  of  regret,  as  well  as  of  love,  and 
of  kindly-spoken  words,  accompanying  pleasant  acts 
of  neighbourly  attention  and  friendly  interest.  But 
all  this  we  must  leave  untold. 


64  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


Nor  will  we  dwell  upon  the  incidents  of  their 
journey.  It  is  true  that  the  rapid  movements  of 
the  rail-cars,  the  slow,  monotonous  progress  of  the 
canal-boats,  the  swift  course  of  the  noble  steamer, 
that,  "  like  a  thing  of  life/'  bore  them  quickly  over 
the  clear,  green  waters  of  Lake  Erie,  were  alike  full 
of  novelty  and  interest  to  them.  It  is  true  that 
there  was  no  end  to  the  questions  of  the  children — 
no  limit  to  their  desires  for  information.  It  is  true 
that,  the  very  first  day,  such  wonderful  events  tran- 
spired, and  such  marvellous  objects  were  seen,  that 
the  record  of  them,  in  Willie's  coarse  hand,  threat- 
ened to  fill  every  leaf  of  his  journal ;  and  that  to 
tell  which  was  the  strangest,  most  curious,  and  most 
worthy  of  note,  he  thought,  would  pu/y.li-  rvni  his 
father.  It  is  true  that,  to  Mary,  Robert,  and  Henry, 
their  way  was  strewn  with  pleasures,  and  that  e;u  h 
day's  experience  was  crowded  with  thoughts  and 
feelings  which  could  not  fail  to  be  awakened  upon 
their  first  long  journey  from  home.  Intelligent  and 
observing,  how  could  it  be  otherwise  ?  They  were 
passing  through  scenes  new  to  their  eyes,  but  fami- 
liar to  their  minds,  places  of  which  they  knew  the 
history,  and  gazing  upon  objects  which  they  had 
seen  pictured  forth. 

A  happy,  merry  party  they  were  ! — the  little  ones 
all  the  happier  for  being  guided  by  certain  rules, 
which  were  strictly  observed.  Mrs.  Moreton  was 
free  from  the  anxiety,  now  that  she  had  directed  them 


THE    DEPARTURE.  65 


to  stay  away  from  dangerous  parts  of  the  boats.  Mr. 
M<>ret  "ii  and  the  older  brothers  were  never  inter- 
rupted in  any  conversation,  to  answer  their  curious 
qin'stinns  ;  t'nr  they  knew  that,  as  soon  as  their  con- 
ation was  over,  they  would  tind  cither  of  them 

:v}.ly  patiently  to  their  inquiries. 
Then,  they  were  never  wearied  iu  watching 
the  huge  iron  shaft  of  the  steamboat,  as  it  rose 
and  sunk.  How  earnestly  they  gazed,  with  wonder- 
in  Lr  eyes,  at  the  cumbrous  machinery,  though  they 
could  not  comprehend  its  workings  !  How  they 
delighted  to  take  a  run  along  the  tow-path  of1  the 
canal,  and  almost  lose  their  breath  in  their  en- 
deavours to  keep  up  with  the  horses  !  How  full  of 
mystery  was  that  tirst  passing  through  a  canal-lock, 
with  its  rushing  sound  of  waters,  its  darkness,  and 
its  peculiar  motion !  How  they  laughed,  as  they 
crouched  down  upon  the  deck,  bowing  far  lower  than 
necessary,  at  the  sound  of,  "Bridge  !  Bridge  I"  And, 
when  ranged  upon  their  hammock-beds  at  night,  how 
merrily  their  little  heads  and  bright  faces  peeped 
out,  finding  great  delight  in  their  very  discomfort ! 

Their  delays — what  were  they,  to  them  all,  but  so 
many  opportunities  of  seeing  different  towns  and 
villages  ?  Then,  who  could  tire  while  watching  the 
white,  foamy  track  by  which  they  marked  their  way 
through  the  clear  lake,  or  feel  weary  of  gazing  upon 
the  white  caps  that  adorned  each  rising  wave  ?  Who 
could  think  that  to  be  out  of  sight  of  land  was  no- 


66  LIFE   IX   THE   WEST. 


thing  wonderful,  or  that,  if  they  neared  the  shore, 
the  little  villages  or  towns,  or  even  the  woods  them- 
selves, were  not  worth  looking  at  ?  Not  they !  And 
older  travellers  gazed  upon  them,  and  envied  them 
the  possession  of  their  fresh  young  hearts,  which 
could  find  pleasure  and  interest  in  all  they  saw, 
while  they  admired  their  considerate,  quiet  atten- 
tion to  each  other's  wishes,  and  their  evident  d« 
that  all  should  enjoy  what  gave  them  so  much 
light.  And,  in  their  hearts,  they  blessed  them,  an-l 
wished  them  all  prosperity  on  their  course,  as  they 
witnessed,  day  by  day,  the  kind  actions  that  spoke 
so  loudly  of  the  bond  of  love  which  united  them  as 
a  family,  and  through  which  they  were  happy  them- 
selves and  the  diffusers  of  happiness  to  others. 

Too  quickly  did  the  days  fly  by ;  and  it  required 
all  the  eager  anticipation  of  youth,  and  the  expecta- 
tion of  something  still  more  delightful,  to  reconcile 
them  to  the  thought  that  their  journey  was  so  far 
accomplished. 


JOURNEYING    TURUUGII   THE   WOODS.  G7 


CHAPTER  VII. 

JOURNEYING    THROUGH    THE   WOODS. 

IT  was  a  bright  morning  in  June — "  leafy  June," 
the  month  of  flowers  and  foliage — that  three  large 
emigrant  wagons  were  standing  before  the  hotel-door 
in .  The  first,  to  which  four  horses  were  at- 
tached, was  capacious  as  a  small  room.  Arches  of 
ash  saplings  were  bent  over  its  top,  and  upon  them 
was  stretched  an  oiled  canvas,  of  a  yellow  colour, 
which  contrasted  pleasantly  with  the  new  green 
paint  upon  its  sides  and  wheels.  Upon  the  floorjl 
sweet,  fresh  straw  had  been  scattered  like  a  <  arjn  t. 
In  the  front,  beneath  its  covering,  seats  w^iv  ar- 
ranged, with  springs,  and  cushioned  with  folded 
quilts  and  blankets.  Beneath  these,  were  boxes 
containing  stores  necessary  for  daily  use,  such  as 
tea,  coffee,  sugar,  salt,  etc.,  and  a  champagne-bas- 
ket, packed  with  tea-cups  and  saucers,  plates,  spoons, 
and  knives  and  forks.  Then,  beds  were  neatly  tied 
up  in  white  coverings,  and  stowed  snugly  away  in 
the  far  corners,  with  blankets  folded  nicely  and  laid 
upon  them  ;  thus  leaving  a  semicircular  opening  in 
the  rear,  which  gave  free  circulation  of  air,  and  per- 

6* 


68  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 

mitted  access  to  articles  otherwise  out  of  reach.  This 
was  the  travelling  carriage  of  the  Moreton  family ; 
and  it  was  with  some  pride  that  Charles,  Frank,  and 
Willie  viewed  it,  and  made  known  its  manifold  beau- 
ties and  conveniences.  They  gazed  upon  its  strongly- 
built  wheels,  with  their  heavy  spokes  and  firm  t 
and  thought  they  could  never  break  nor  ^pear  out. 
More  than  once  they  opened  the  boxes  which  pro- 
jected on  each  side,  between  the  wheels,  to  see  if, 
in  the  one,  had  been  placed  the  preparation  for 
greasing  the  wheels,  and  the  brush  for  using  it, 
and,  in  the  other,  if  there  were  nails  of  all  sizes,  the 
ball  of  twine,  the  strips  of  stout  leather,  the  small 
coil  of  rope,  the  hammer,  saw,  and  hatchet,  with 
other*  smaller  tools.  Nothing  had  been  forgotten, 
that  might  be  necessary  in  case  of  w<-i<l«-nt  ;  and 
^he  large  box,  on  the  back  of  the  vrhi«-]r.  was  filled 
with  oats,  for  the  horses,  while  beneath  it  hung  a 
huge  water-pail,  which  swung  back  and  f'.rth,  >\\ 
by  every  motion  of  the  wagon.  Their  unanimous 
verdict  was,  that  "  it  was  a  very  complete  affair." 

The  second  wagon  was  like  the  first,  in  size  and 
in  external  appearance,  but  was  not  new,  nor  so 
tidily  arranged.  It  was  filled  with  furniture,  boxes, 
trunks,  bundles,  and  chests,  closely  packed,  and  se- 
curely protected  from  the  weather,  leaving  only  room 
for  the  accommodation  of  the  driver  and  his  com- 
panions. This  was  a  hired  team,  and  Robert  was 
to  drive  it.  With  him,  a  carpenter,  hired  by  Mr. 


JOURNEYING  THROUGH  THE  WOODS.     69 


Moreton  to  superintend  the  'building  of  his  house, 
was  g(»ing,  and  a  youn.  -  his  assistant,  ac- 

companied them.  The  next  vehicle  contained  such 
a  variety  of  miscellaneous  articles,  that  Willie's 
patience  gave  out  in  enumerating  them,  and  he 
pronounced  them  as  "too  numerous  to  mention/' 
A  cookie-stove,  pots,  k  •  t  te  of  crockery,  bar- 

rels of  provision  and  sacks  of  grain,  were  but  a  part 
of  its  contents.  This  was  also  Imvd  for  the  journey, 
and  was  to  be  drawn  by  six  mules,  guided  by  their 
owner,  Michael  Dorrance,  an  Irishman  by  birth,  but, 
for  many  years,  a  team>t-T  in  th«-  W  it  HI  country. 
II.  had  often  been  over  this  same  route,  and  Frank's 
choice  was  to  ride  with  him,  for  the  sake  of 
gathering  such  information  as  he  might  be  able  to 
give  concerning  "  life  in  the  woods." 

Between  these  two  last  carriages,  Henry  was  to 
ride  on  horseback,  and,  with  the  aid  of  a  young 
man,  who  went  to  drive  the  second  wagon  back,  he 
to  guide  the  movements  of  two  cows,  a  yoke  of 
oxen,  and  half  a  dozen  sheep — no  easy  matter,  to  an 
inexperienced  person,  where  the  road  was  often  but 
a  track  through  the  woods,  and  no  fences  were  built, 
to  serve  as  restraints  upon  them,  if  unruly,  or  disposed 
to  crop  the  herbage  beneath  the  trees.  And  here 
ought  to  be  introduced  to  our  readers,  Carlo,  Char- 
lie's dog,  who  has  been  neglected  quite  too  long  by 
us,  considering  that,  until  now,  he  had  made  himself 
very  troublesome,  but  important,  by  his  continual 


70  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


uneasiness  and  mournful  howls,  so  that  "pleasant 
to  own"  was  omitted  in  his  ma.-ter's  summing-up  of 
the  advantages  of  his  purchase.  But  time  and  good 
usage  had  reconciled  him  to  the  idea  of  emigration ; 
and  he  now  trotted  contented  along  by  the  side 
of  Henry's  horse,  sometimes  barking  ut  or  biting  the 
heels  of  a  refractory  animal,  and,  at  others,  darting 
off  into  the  depths  of  the  forest,  and  returning,  in 
a  few  minutes,  panting  and  weary,  but  wagging  his 
tail,  and  looking  quite  satisfied  with  the  result  of 
his  search. 

Every  preparation  had  been  made  for  starting ; 
yet  no  little  time  was  consumed  in  the  getting  off, 
and  the  satisfactory  settling  of  themselves  in  their 
new  quarters.  Even  when  they  did  start,  they  were 
so  occupied  with  the  novelty  of  their  position,  and 
with  their  arrangements  for  seats,  and  for  a  com- 
fortable passing  of  their  time,  that  they  hardly  no- 
ticed the  country  through  which  they  were  travel- 
ling. 

For  the  same  reason,  their  progress  was  slow. 
Only  fifteen  miles  were  accomplished  at  sunset,  and 
then,  in  rude  but  decent  quarters,  they  passed  the 
night. 

But,  the  next  morning,  the  journey  was  really 
commenced  in  good  earnest;  for  sunrise  found  them 
all  up,  dressed,  and  ready  for  a  start.  Breakfast 
was  soon  disposed  of;  but  not  before  they  had 
gathered  themselves  together,  for  family  prayer. 


JOURNEYING  THROUGH  THE  WOODS.     71 


•••ther  they  sang  their  morning  hymn  of  praise 
and  thanksgiving,  and  together  they  commended 
themselves  to  the  care  of  their  heavenly  Father. 

••  \\\-  have  no  right  to  think  God  will  remember 
us,  and  take  care  nf  us,  while  we  forget  him.  By 
the  w;i\ ,  as  well  as  within  the  house,  we  need  his 
directing  hand.  He  is  the  friend  we  cannot  leave — 
watchful,  loving,  and  powerful  to  protect.  Let  us 
thank  him  for  all  his  goodness  to  us !" 

Thus  said  and  thus  frit  Mr.  Moreton,  as  the  morn- 
ing sun  rose  bright  and  clear,  and  they  were  once 
more  upon  their  way.  The  forests  lay  stretched  out 
about  them,  as  they  proceeded  upon  their  course, 
dressed  in  the  fresh,  early  green  of  June.  Dew- 
drops,  like  glistening  diamonds,  sparkled  on  the 
sprays  of  grass,  and  the  sweet  carollings  of  birds 
filled  the  air  with  melody.  No  dust  had  soiled  the 
fair  buds  and  leaves — no  hand  had  plucked  the  gay 
and  brilliant  blossoms  that  covered  the  ground.  Too 
quiet  were  those  deep  woods  for  fear,  too  full  of 
beauty  and  pleasure  for  loneliness ;  and,  under  these 
gentle  ministrations,  a  calm  but  determined  happi- 
ness rose  in  the  hearts  of  our  travellers. 

There  was  something  so  sweet  in  that  fresh  vernal 
air,  loaded  with  the  fragrance  of  the  early  flowers, 
so  invigorating  in  its  influences,  that  sadness  was 
dispelled  and  weariness  forgotten.  And  the  gushes 
of  melody  from  the  busy  birds,  in  the  leafy  branches  - 
of  the  forest-trees,  now  trilling,  now  whistling,  now 


72  LIFE    IN    THE    WEST. 


flowing  on  in  soft,  continued  notes,  or  interrupted 
with  the  cheerful  chatter  of  the  blackbird,  or  the 
discordant  cawing  of  the  crow,  as  the  gentle  breezes 
bore  to  the  ear  more  distant  sounds;  who  could  lis- 
ten to  these,  and  not  feel  that  the  world  about  them 
was  indeed  a  "  treasure-house  of  pleasure/ '  an  up- 
springing  fountain  of  delight? 

And  the  small  Mivums  that  danced  joyously  along 
between  their  green  bunks — wore  they  not  emblrms 
of  quiet  happiness  ?  Or  if,  in  their  course,  they 
spread  themselves  into  little  hikes,  did  they  not 
shine  like  burnished  silver  in  the  sunlight,  and  re- 
flect the  beauty  and  brightness  of  the  blue  heavens 
above  ?  Did  they  not  tempt  the  flying  birds  to 
bathe  in  the  clear  waters?  Did  they  not  give  back 
to  the  gorgeous  dragon-fly  the  image  of  his  own 
beautiful  form,  as  he  played  above  the  waves,  or 
rested,  for  the  moment,  upon  the  ripples  ? 

And  the  little  swarms  of  yellow  butterflies — were 
they  not  happy  in  their  social  companies?  The 
speckled  quails,  that,  in  loving  pairs,  rustled  among 
the  dry  leaves — was  there  no  sympathy  for  them, 
as  they  sought  to  find,  or  make  for  themselves,  a 
new  home  ?  Was  there  no  bounding  of  heart,  as 
that  fleet  deer  was  seen  for  the  moment,  and  then 
vanished  in  the  covert  of  the  woods  ? 

In  the  early  summer,  imagination  can  hardly 
picture  more  beautiful  scenes  than  those  presented 
by  the  Western  "  oak-openings/'  through  which,  for 


JOURNEYING  THROUGH  THE  WOODS.     73 


many  miles,  the  path  of  our  travellers  lay.  The 
level  surface  of  the  country,  permitting  the  eye  to 
range  to  a  great  distance ;  the  picturesque  grouping 
or  planting  of  the  trees ;  the  spreading  formation  of 
their  branches ;  their  graceful  but  light  foliage,  that 
admits,  at  once,  the  warm  sunlight  and  gentle  ze- 
phyrs, yet  forms  an  agreeable  shade ;  the  absence 
of  undergrowth ;  the  winding  tracks,  extending  in 
many  directions ;  the  profuse  sprinkling  of  flowers, 
with  brilliant  petals, — all  tend  to  awaken  emotions 
of  pleasure  in  any  breast  not  callous  or  dead  to  a 
sense  of  the  beautiful.  It  is  as  if  you  entered  a 
park  or  pleasure-ground,  lYt.-h  from  the  hand 
of  its  Maker,  where  man  had  neither  destroyed  nor 
marred  the  first  impress  of  God's  manifest  care 
for  the  happiness  of  his  creatures ;  and,  in  its  little 
daisy-tufts,  that  spring  by  the  roadside,  as  well  as 
in  its  loftiest  trees,  the  lesson  of  His  existence  and 
care  and  protection  may  be  read. 

There  was  not  a  heart  but  was  quick  to  feel  this, 
among  the  company  of  emigrants  whose  fortunes  we 
are  following ;  nor  one  in  whose  mind  were  not  gra- 
titude and  thankfulness  to  Him  who  had  brought 
them  thus  far  on  their  way  safely,  and  was  opening 
to  them  prospects  of  life,  so  full  of  joy  and  hope,  in 
the  wide  woods  of  the  West. 

Nor  did  these  feelings  vanish  when  an  occasional 
house  or  cabin  was  passed.  Even  when  the  rum- 
bling of  their  wheels  brought  to  the  door  swarms  of 


74 


LIFE   IX   THE   WEST. 


children,  and  men  unshaven  and  roughly  clad,  their 
eyes  were  quick  to  detect  tokens  of  success  in  the 
newly-planted  apple-tree,  the  extent  of  the  clear- 
ing, the  potato-patch,  the  feeble  effort  at  a  barn, 
and,  in  them  all,  they  read  a  lesson  of  hope  for  the 
future ;  for,  from  these  small  beginnings — these 
struggles  of  labour  with  poverty — were  to  come, 
they  knew  well,  the  competence  and  independence 
that  distinguish  the  lot  of  our  hard-working  but  free 
countrymen 


ENCAMl'.MKNT    IN    THE    WOODS. 


VIII. 

X    THE   WOODS. 

ROUND  and  round  move  tin1  h«  u\ y  wheels  of  the 
large  emigrant-wagons.     Rouii'l  and  round  tin-;. 
through  wood    and    swamp,  over   log-bridges,   an  I 
through    "timbered    lands;"    now   rumbling,   now 
creaking;  now  contending  with  >tump  or  } 
root;  now  ni"  l-ri-kiT  pa«v  «Y.T  a  smooth, 

.nd  then,  again,  toiling  al'iig,  halt- 
buried  in  a  deep  rut,  1  spring  frosts  and 
rains.  Slowly  they  move,  but  surely.  The  stout 
driver  of  the  first  wagon  has  krpt  tlu-  ivekoning  of 
the  nd  proclaims  that  twenty  m 
have  been  accomplished  before  the  mid-day  rest. 
he  shades  of  evening  draw  on,  our  travel- 
lers are  weary  and  wayworn,  and  disappointed,  too. 
They  had  hoped  to  reach  the  settlement  of  Lupine 
Prairie  before  nightfall,  for  the  next  day  was  the 
Sabbath. 

But  Lupine  Prairie  was  still  ten  miles  distant 
when  the  dusk  of  evening  was  drawing  near ;  and 
the  fatigue,  both  of  travellers  and  horses,  made  it 


76  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


desirable  to  stop  for  the  night.  It  was  not  their 
first  experience  of  campiny-out,  for  they  had  been 
five  nights  upon  the  road,  and  only  two  of  these 
had  they  been  able  to  find  comfortable  quarters  be- 
neath the  shelter  of  a  roof.  Every  possible  arrange- 
ment had  been  made,  before  starting,  for  the  passing 
of  the  nights  by  the  wayside ;  and  it  was  almost  in- 
comprehensible, even  to  them,  how  easily  they  could 
accommodate  themselves,  and  be  rendered  comfort- 
able under  these  new  circumstances.  But  our  readers 
shall  judge  for  themselves. 

The  setting  sun,  with  its  gorgeous  array  of  golden 
clouds,  had  sunk  below  the  western  horizon,  before 
they  had  reached  a  dry,  elevated  place,  suitable  for 
an  encampment.  Then,  after  a  few  words  of  con- 
sultation with  Mr,  Moreton,  the  stout  driver  (whose 
good  sense  and  practical  knowledge  of  the  country 
had  placed  him  in  the  capacity  of  guide  and  adviser) 
turned  the  heads  of  his  horses,  and  drew  carefully 
up  beneath  the  green  trees,  standing  back  some  dis- 
tance from  the  road.  The  horses  were  then  taken 
out,  relieved  of  the  weight  of  their  harness,  and  placed 
in  a  safe  position  to  rest  and  cool  themselves,  before 
being  allowed  to  eat. 

Then,  slowly  came  on  the  second  "  team,"  guided 
by  the  careful  hand  of  Robert.  This  also  drew  up, 
and  was  placed  at  a  right  angle  with  the  first,  and 
the  horses  carefully  looked  after. 

Before  a  half  hour  passed,  there  was  heard,  echo- 


ENCAMPMENT    IN    THE   WOODS.  77 


ing  through  ti  the  sharp  voice  of  Michael 

Dorrance,  crying,  "Whoa!  whoa!"  in  tones  that 
even  the  sk>w-witted  animals  lie  was  master  of  could 
not  mistake.  They  too  drew  up,  and  placed  them- 
selves opposite  to  Ilob<  .11  thus  forming 

-  of  a  hollow  square,  opening  to  the  south.      . 
Henry  and  his  aid  soon  gathered  their  charge,  and  $ 
made  them  fast  not   far  from   this  opening,  taking 
particular  care  that  they  should  be  comfortable  this 
night;  for  the  rest  of  the  Sabbath  was  approaching, 
and   Mr.  Moreton  desired   that   its  hours   might  be 
spent  in  peace  and  quietness,  so  far  as  their  situa- 
tion should  allow. 

But  these   arran_'  n   not  all.      Scarcely 

had  they  stopped,  1  i  1  Alice 

.  picking  up  dry  bits  nf  W«HM!  and  «! 
branches,  that  would  burn  quickly  airl  e.;>ily.  Mr. 
Moreton,  leaving  the  care  of  the  horsi-s  t<>  th«-«li;, 
had  taken  his  hatchet  from  the  box  at  the  .side  of  the 
wagon,  and  soon  finding  a  */•//<<//)///,  (a  tree  that  had 
fallen  some  time  previous,  and  was  now  dead  and 
dry,)  he  had  easily  chopped  some  of  its  branches 
into  lengths  suitable  for  burning.  Just  without  the 
enclosure,  he  then  placed  two  large  green  logs,  form- 
ing two  sides  of  a  triangle  with  them.  These  wrere 
to  hold  up  the  wood,  and  to  protect  the  blaze  while  it 
was  kindling.  Then  came  Alice,  with  a  basket  full 
of  small  chips  and  light  sticks,  which  were  carefully 
and  loosely  placed  upon  each  other,  between  the  logs. 


78  LIFE    IN    THE   WEST. 


They  were  then  lighted  from  a  match,  and  soon 
blazed  up,  crackling  merrily.  When  fairly  burn- 
ing, Willie  cast  on  his  treasures,  but  even  he  was 
cautious  lest  he  should  put  out  the  little  blue  flame 
that,  in  darting  tongues,  was  climbing  here  and  there 
the  wood.  As  it  gained  in  power  and  strength, 
Charlie  laid  sticks  of  wood  upon  it,  until  the  united 
strength  of  the  children  hardly  sufficed  to  lift  the 
logs  that  it  was  desirable  to  place  over  the  coals,  in 
order  to  insure  their  continuance  until  morning.  By 
the  time  that  Michael  reached  there  with  his  mules, 
there  was  a  good  roaring  fire,  brightening  up  with 
its  light  the  increasing  shades  of  evening,  and  offer- 
ing a  bed  of  live  coals  to  any  one  who  would  use 
them  to  cook  their  evening  meal. 

But  where  was  Robert?  Away  with  the  water- 
pails,  looking  for  a  stream  or  spring,  from  which 
they  might  be  filled ;  and  not  long  was  he  gone ! 
As  for  Susan  and  Mary,  they  were  busy  enough  ! 
Out  of  the  back  of  Michael's  wagon,  they  had  had  a 
table  lifted;  upon  it  they  Lad  briskly  mixed  the 
bread,  which  was  to  be  baked  for  the  morning's  use. 
Frank  was  tfiere,  too,  placing  "the  little  tin  reflector 
just  far  enough  from  the  fire ;  and,  with  one  of  the 
girls'  aprons  tied  around  his  waist,  he  speedily 
washed  the  potatoes,  and  hung  them  over  the  fire 
to  boil.  The  little  square  gridiron,  with  its  shining 
black  bars,  was  spread  with  slices  of  meat;  and, 
over  those  glowing  embers,  how  nicely  it  cooked ! 


ENCAMPMENT    IN    THE    WOODS.  79 


Then  there  was  the  coffee  to  be  made ;  and  then 
wiping  off  the  little  table,  a  clean  white  cloth  was 
spread  upon  it,  and  it  was  covered  with  dishes,  ready 
for  their  evening  meal;  the  cake  of  golden-coloured 
butter,  the  pile  of  slices  of  wheaten  bread,  and  the 
full  sugar-dish  were  not  forgotten.  And  Susan  ! 
She  it  was  who  slipped  away  with  her  milk-pail,  but 
found  that  Henry  had  been  quicker  than  she,  and 
already  sat  by  the  side  of  one  of  the  cows,  with  a 
pail  nearly  full  of  foaming,  creamy  milk  !  I»y  the 
time  that  supper  was  ready,  tin-re  was  not  one  who 
was  not  ready,  too,  to  eat  the  simple,  but,  t  <>  tin -in, 
delicious  repast,  with  a  goud  appetite  and  a  1. 

relish 

The  round  moon  rose  red  and  clear,  and  glided 
high   into  the   hea  'inir   upon   the   sVepinir 

emigrants  a  melh>\  •.  which  was  heightened 

or  obscured  as  the  watch-tire  burned  high  or  low. 
At  intervals,  might  be  heard  the  restless  horses, 
terrified  at  imaginary  sounds,  or  disturbed  by  the 
movements  of  their  companions ;  or  the  strokes  of 
the  axe,  plied  by  the  watchman  of  the  hour  as  a 
help  to  wakefulness.  But  peacefully  they  slum- 
bered, while  "  He  who  never  slumbereth  nor  sleep- 
eth"  was  a  "  guard  upon  their  right  hand,  and  Upon 
their  left,  to  preserve  them  from  evil."  And  when, 
at  the  previously-arranged  hours,  one  after  another, 
the  young  men  took  their  places  quietly,  to  guard 
the  encampment  from  intrusion,  the  pleasant  words 


80 


LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


of  "  Air s  well !"  was  their  only  greeting.  At  the 
foot  of  each  new-comer  would  Carlo  wag  his  tail, 
look  up  in  his  face  for  a  word  or  sign  of  recog- 
nition, and  then  again  compose  himself  to  his  little 
naps. 


A   SABBATH   IN    THE    WOODS.  81 


CIIA1TKU   IX. 

A    SAKHATII    IN    THE    WOODS. 

IF  we  allowed  our  readers  to  suppose  that  all  those 

-ms  employed   by  Mr.  M.uvton,  in   the  proM-cii- 

tion  of  his  jnurm -\  .  h   his  plan  of 

ping  upon  the  Sabbath,  we  >hnuld  give  a  w: 
impression.      Although  it  had  been  a^riv.  d  upon  be- 
fore  starting,   the   fine  weather   and    thtir    haying 
been  delayed  upon  the  nd   their 

tion,    had    awaken.  d    a   strong   desire    to   go    on. 
had  Dorrancc,  particularly,  remonf  Vmst 

the  delay,  and  expressed  his  opinion,  that  "it  was 
all  nonsense  to  stop;"  to  which  Mr.  Moreton  calmly 
replied — 

"But,  Michael,  last  Friday,  when  you  said   that 
your  religion  permitte  1  at  no  meat,  I  did 

not  say  that  that  was  all  nontcnse.  AVe  l>»th  pro- 
to  be  guided  by  the  precepts  of  the  Bible.  You 
cannot  read  it,  and  take,  upon  the  authority  of  your 
priest,  what  he  tells  you  arc  words  of  command  and 
promise.  He  tells  you  to  eat  no  meat  on  Fridays ; 
and  we  tried,  at  some  inconvenience  to  ourselves,  to 
accommodate  you  with  food  that  you  thought? it  right 
to  eat,  although  we  knew  that  there  was  no  command 


82  LIFE    IN    THE    WEST. 


in  God's  word  concerning  it.  This  is  the  Bible/' 
said  Mr.  Moreton,  holding  one  in  his  hand;  "and  I 
read  it  for  myself,  and  find  it  says,  '  Six  days  shalt 
thou  labour  and  do  all  thy  work  :  but  the  seventh 
day  is  the  Sabbath  of  the  Lord  thy  God  :  in  it  thou 
shalt  not  do  any  work;  thou,  nor  thy  son,  nor  thy 
daughter,  thy  man-servant,  nor  thy  maid-servant,  nor 
thy  cattle,  nor  thy  stranger  that  is  within  thy  gates  : 
for  in  six  days  the  Lord  made  heaven  and  earth,  the 
sea,  and  all  that  in  them  is,  and  rested  the  seventh 
day  :  wherefore,  the  Lord  blessed  the  Sabbath-day, 
and  hallowed  it.'  This  is  very  plain ;  and  I  should 
not  do  what  I  consider  right,  if,  in  obedience  to  this 
command,  I  did  not  allow  each  one  of  us  a  day  of 
rest,  and  an  opportunity  to  honour  God,  by  observ- 
ing his  Sabbath." 

"If  you  could  go  to  church,"  said  Michael,  "and 
see  the  praist,  and  get  absolution,  it  would  be  worth 
yer  while." 

"  My  priest  is  Jesus  Christ,"  said  Mr.  Moreton, 
"  who  lives  with  God  in  heaven,  and  he  is  every- 
where present ;  as  near  me  here,  in  these  woods,  as 
if  I  were  in  any  church.  To  him  I  shall  go  in 
prayer  this  day,  and  confess  my  sins ;  and  I  know 
that  he  will  forgive  them,  and  grant  me  pardon ;  for 
the  Bible  says,  i  If  we  confess  our  sins,  he  is  faith- 
ful and  just  to  forgive  us  our  sins,  and  to  cleanse  us 
from  all  unrighteousness/  and  'If  any  man  sin,  we 
have  an  advocate  with  the  Father,  Jesus  Christ,  the 


A    SAEBATII    IN    THE   WOODS.  83 


righteous.'     And,  as  a  family,  we  shall  gather  to- 

•r,  and  ask  God's  pardon  for  our  sins,  and  his 

upon   us.     We   shall   hope   that   you  will 

unite  with  us  in  thanking  Him  who  has  made  our 

journey,  thus  far,  pleasant  and  prosperous." 

Tin-re  was  another  person  as  much  di>sati>nVd  as 
Michael  with  the  proposed  delay,  and  this  was  the 
stout  driver.  He  was  a  We-  tern  man,  in  middle 
life,  of  good  natural  ahilities,  but  in.  and 

without  religious  principle.     lie  made  no  complaint 

'ii,  but  to  Robert  he  said  — 

"  I  d  96  of  stopping  thirty- 

3  here,  in  this  place,  just  becausr  it  happens 

Sunday,  in>:  ttdaj,      I  should  think 

that  folks  might  be  just  as  good  and  pious,  going 

along.     ]>esidcs,  it  is  my  opinion  that  God  is  good 

and  merciful,  and,  if  we  die,  will  take  us  all  to  hea- 

.  whether  we  bother  ourselves  with  keeping  Sun- 

day, or  not." 

"Do  you  think  there  are  two  heavens?"  a.-ked 
K"bert;  "one  for  those  who  love  God,  and  endea- 
vour to  serve  him,  and  another  for  those  who  do  not 

for  him  or  his  commandments?" 
"  Why,  no  !     I  guess  they'll  all  share  pretty  much 


"Then,  according  to  your  own  showing,  should 
they  even  be  taken  to  the  same  place,  one  class  must 
be  happy  and  the  other  miserable.  You  would  not 
be  happy  in  a  heaven  where  the  worship  of  God  was 


84  LIFE    IN    THE    WEST. 


the  sole  employment  and  every  day  a  Sabbath,  and 
my  father  could  never  enjoy  any  place  where  God 
was  forgotten  and  never  praised.  Now,  I  leave  it  to 
you  to  say,  whether  you  think  that  a  God  who 
should  reward  those  who  have  never  even  remem- 
bered him,  and  punish  those  who  have  tried  to  serve 
him  and  to  do  his  will,  is  a  good  God,  or  such  an 
one  as  you  think  rules  this  universe.  But  people 
do  not  all  go  to  the  same  place  when  they  die.  The 
Bible  says  that  '  the  wicked  shall  lie  turned  into 
hell,  and  all  the  nations  that  forget  God/  'l>e  nut 
deceived;  God  is  not  mocked:  whatsoever  a  man 
soweth,  that  shall  he  also  reap;'  ' God  will  render 
to  every  man  according  to  his  deeds:  t«>  them  who, 
by  patient  continuance  in  well-doing,  seek  for  glory 
and  honour  and  immortality,  eternal  life;  but  unto 
them  that  are  contentious,  and  obey  not  the  truth, 
but  obey  unrighteousness,  indignation  and  wrath, 
tribulation  and  anguish,  upon  every  soul  of  man 
that  doeth  evil;  but  glory,  honour,  and  peace  to 
every  man  that  worketh  good/  " 

As  Robert  read  these  texts,  the  eye  of  his  com- 
panion was  fixed  upon  him.  When  he  had  finished, 
he  said — 

"Death  will  change  us,  and  make  heaven  pleasant 
to  us,  by  making  us  fit  to  enter  it." 

"  I  cannot  say  that  it  will/'  said  Robert.  "  I  know 
nothing  about  it,  but  what  the  Bible  says.  I  read 
there,  '  And  if  the  tree  fall  toward  the  south  or  to- 


A   SABBATH   IN   THE   WOODS.  85 


ward  the  north,  in  the  place  where  the  tree  falleth, 
there  it  shall  lie/*  '  He  that  is  unjust,  let  him  be 
unjust  still,  and  he  that  is  filthy,  let  him  be  filthy 
still;  he  that  is  righteous,  let  him  be  righteous  still, 
and  he  that  is  holy,  let  him  be  holy  still.'  '  And, 
behold,  I  come  quickly,  and  my  reward  is  with  me, 
to  give  to  every  man  according  as  his  work  shall  be.' 
These  texts  don't  sound  much  as  if  we  could  hope 
that  dying  was  to  make  us  fit  to  go  to  heaven." 

The  necessary  arrangements  for  the  day  were  few 
and  easily  made ;  and  none  but  Mr.  Moreton  and 
Robert  knew  of  these  discussions,  as,  in  a  spirit  of 
gladness,  they  assembled  about  the  little  table  SJT 
with  the  morning  meal. 

"  How  shall  we  spend  the  day  ?"  was  the  natural 
inquiry.  It  was  soon  settled  that,  at  ten  o'clock, 
they  should  come  together,  to  hear  a  sermon  read  by 
Mr.  Moreton,  accompanied  with  the  other  services 
of  public  worship;  that,  in  the  afternoon,  there 
should  be  a  kind  of  Sunday-school,  and,  in  the  even- 
ing, a  temperance  meeting  should  be  held,  directly 
after  family  prayers;  the  intervening  hours  to  be 
employed  in  that  way  which  to  each  one  seemed  most 
desirable. 

To  this  plan  they  cheerfully  consented ;  and,  before 
long,  Mrs.  Moreton  produced  a  basket  of  books, 
tracts,  and  papers,  which  the  children  soon  scattered 

*  Eccl.  xi.  3. 


86  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


about,  as  they  seated  themselves  beneath  the  over- 
spreading branches  of  some  gnarled  oak,  or  were 
overshadowed  by  the  hanging  vines  of  a  climbing 
wild-grape ;  and  either  singly,  or  in  clusters  of  two 
or  three,  sought  to  commit  to  memory  a  self-imposed 
lesson  for  the  afternoon,  or  read  aloud  for  the  grati- 
fication of  others,  or  silently  perused  the  word  of 
God  for  themselves.  Who  could  doubt,  as  they 
gazed  upon  the  seriously  happy  faces  of  these  little 
groups,  that  God  was  with  thrm,  K-adinir  their  young 
hearts,  by  the  influences  of  his  good  spirit,  "  to 
member  the  day,  to  keep  it  holy?"  Or,  as  they 
looked  upon  them,  gathered  together  for  united 
worship,  who  could  feel  that  it  was  a  vain  thing  to 
serve  the  Lord,  when  each  beaming  countenance 
told  of  hope  and  joy  and  peace  ? 

In  the  little  church  of  Laurelton,  the  good  pas- 
tor remembered  them,  and  besought  the  Massing  of 
Jehovah  to  ivst  upon  any  servants  of  his  who,  that 
day,  might  be  far  from  the  ordinances  of  the  sanc- 
tuary ;  and  asked  that  his  presence  might  be  with 
them,  whether  in  the  house  or  by  the  way.  Even 
then  was  that  prayer  answered  and  that  petition 
granted,  as, 

"  In  the  darkling  wood, 

Amidst  the  cool  and  silence,  they  knelt  down, 
And  offered,  to  the  Mightiest,  solemn  thanks 
And  supplication." 


!',BATII   IX   THE   WOODS.  87 


Those  prayers  were  no  tedious  ceremony,  no  weari- 
some service,  or  one  in  which  the  heart  had  no  part, 
but  "  the  offering  of  their  sincere  desire  unto  God,  for 
things  agreeable  to  his  will,  in  the  name  of  Christ, 
with  confession  of  sin,  and  thankful  acknowledgment 
of  his  mercy/'  Then  upon  the  air,  borne  by  the  soft 
winds  in  tuneful  n»-  'he  voice  of  prai 

"Through  all  the  changing  scenes  of  life, 

In  trouble  or  in  j..y. 
The  praises  of  our  God  shall  still 
Ourl;  tongues  employ. 

Oh  !  make  but  trial  of  his  love : 

Kxperience  will  <leei'le 
How  l.k-st  are  th.-y.  :;ii«l  only  they, 

AYho  iu  his  truth  con- 
Fear  him,  ye  saints :   ami  y»u  will  then 

Have  nothing  el 
Come,  make  hi- 

He'll  make  your  want 

A  portion  of  God's  word  was  listened  to,  another 
song  of  praise   was  sung,  and   then  the  discourse 
selected  by  Mr.  More  ton  was  read.     Its  subject  was 
the   "  Keeping  of  the   Sabbath."     It  spoke  of  its 
advantages  as  a  day  of  rest,  ami  of  its  adaptedness 
he  wants  of  man,  both  as  a  mortal  and  an  im- 
mortal being,   and  of  its  meeting  his  necessities, 
b 
* 


LIFE   IN    THE   WEST. 


physical  and  moral.     Its  observance  was  urged  for 
the  reason, 

That  it  was  the  command  of  God  that  it  should 
be  kept  holy,  as  a  commemoration  of  the  creation, 
and  a  token  of  our  entire  dependence  on  him  as  our 
Creator ; 

That  it  tended,  by  giving  stated  seasons  of  rest, 
to  prolong  human  life ; 

That  such  rest  and  change  of  occupation  kept 
clear  and  unimpaired  the  intellectual  and  reasoning 
faculties  of  man ; 

That  its  observance  as  a  day  of  worship  awakened 
proper  emotions  of  love  and  gratitude  to  Him  who 
gives  us  all  our  time,  and  through  whose  death  and 
resurrection  we  have  hope  of  eternal  life ; 

That  its  tendency  was  to  elevate  and  enli 
the  affections; 

And,  finally,  because,  by  giving  us  an  oppor- 
tunity to  study  and  contemplate  tlx-  r  of 
Jehovah,  and  his  perfections,  we  might  learn  to  love 
him  and  seek  his  friendship;  so  that,  at  the  day  of 
judgment,  we  might  be  accepted  through  the  Sa- 
viour, and  be  made  welcome  by  him  as  good  and 
faithful  servants. 

It  was  a  plain,  practical  sermon,  written  in  sim- 
ple language.  Its  subject  was  illustrated  both  by 
Scripture,  aptly  applied,  and  by  anecdotes,  showing 
the  value  of  the  Sabbath  in  a  physical  point  of  view. 
There  were  the  written  or  expressed  opinions  of 


•'.BATH    IN    THE    WOODS.  89 


eminent  men,  such  as  Wilberforce,  who  says  :  "Oh  ! 
what  a  blessing  is  Sunday  !  interposed  between  the 
waves  of  worldly  business,  like  the  divine  path  of 
the  Israelites  through  Jordan  !  I  can  truly  say 
that,  to  mo,  the  Sabbath  is  invaluable."  There 
was  the  opinion  of  Dr.  Sewall,  whose  observation  led 
him  to  write:  UI  have  remarked  that  those  to  whom 
the  Sabbath  brings  the  most  entire  rest  from  their 
habitual  labours,  performed  the  secular  duties  of  the 
week  more  vigorously  and  siircess/ulty  than  those 
who  continued  them  without  intermission."  And 
that  of  Dr.  Warren,  who  says:  "  I  have  a  firm  be- 
lief that  persons  who  observe  the  Sabbath  are  able 
to  do  more  work,  and  d«»  it  in  a  m<>r.-  man- 

ner, in  six  days,  than  if  they  worked  the  whole 
seven.  A  change  of  thought  seems  to  give  a  fre>h 
spring  to  the  mental  operations,  as  a  change  of  food 
does  to  the  body.  The  breathing  of  the  pure  and 
sublime  atmosphere  of  the  reli  >l>ath  re- 

freshes and  invigorates  the  spirit :  it  forms  an 
epoch  in  our  existence,  from  which  we  receive  a 
new  impulse,  and  thus  constitutes  the  best  prepara- 
tion for  the  labours  of  the  coming  week." 

These  truths  and  facts  fell  upon  the  ears  of  an 
attentive  and  interested  audience,  for  all  had  drawn 
near  to  listen,  either  from  lack  of  occupation,  or 
from  respect  to  Mr.  Moreton.  There  was  an  unaf- 
fected seriousness  and  an  apparent  pleasure  in  con- 
templating the  truths  of  God's  word,  which  gave  to 


90  LIFE   IX    THE    WEST. 


Mr.  Moreton's  tones  a  power  to  arrest  and  enchain 
attention;  and  the  fitness  of  the  subject  to  the  cir- 
cumstances in  which  they  were  placed  could  not  fail 
to  be  felt,  even  by  those  to  whom  the  delay  had 
been,  at  first,  unwelcome. 

None  sat  there  listlessly  or  with  wandering  minds; 
and  as,  in  devout  gratitude,  Mr.  Moreton  offered  the 
closing  prayer  to  Him  who  in  wisdom  hath  set  apart 
the  Sabbath,  and  hallowed  it,  and  asked  him  to  incline 
their  hearts  to  keep  it  holily  unto  the  end,  even  the 
heart  of  Michael  Dorrance  was  touched.  Uncon- 
sciously to  himself,  the  strongholds  of  superstition 
were  loosened  in  his  mind ;  and  though,  after  the 
custom  of  his  church,  he  raised  his  hat  and  made 
the  sign  of  the  cross  upon  his  forehead  and  breast, 
yet,  in  his  soul,  he  acknowledged  that  true  worship 
was  not  confined  to  temples  made  with  hands,  or 
to  forms  devised  by  the  hearts  of  men. 

Thus  passed  the  hours  of  that  Sabbath  morning ; 
and  thus,  from  beneath  the  green  trees,  went  up  to 
the  throne  of  God  the  incense  of  devotion  and  love. 
It  was  a  fit  temple  for  the  worship  of  the  Most 
High — far  from  the  cares  and  tumults  of  the  busy 
world ;  far  from  the  throng  of  thoughtless  mortals, 
pressing  on  in  their  worldly  pursuits.  And  there, 
surrounded  by  the  manifestations  of  Almighty 
goodness,  warmed  by  the  light  of  that  sun  which 
he  guides  and  refreshed  by  the  cool  breezes  of  his 
bestowing,  fed  from  his  bounty  and  sustained  by 


A    SABBATH    IN    Till-:    WOODS. 


91 


his  protecting  hand,  can  we  doubt  but  his  pure  eye 
looked  upon  tlu^e,  his  worshippers,  with  love,  and 
that  unto  them  should  be  fulfilled  the  promise, 
"  Them  that  honour  me,  will  I  honour  ?"* 

*  1  Sam.  ii.  30. 


92  LIFE    IN    THE    WEST. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE   RAINY   DAY*S   JOURNEY. 

RAINY,  stormy  days  there  are  in  everybody's  ex- 
perience; days  when  employment  is  hin<U-iv<l;  when 
progress  is  delayed,  when  antici]  are 

marred,  when  good-nature,  if  dependent  upon  the 
weather,  is  apt  to  become  bad-nature,  and  the  spirits 
will  flag  and  sink,  unless  sustained  by  active  em- 
ployment or  governed  by  principle.  These  often 
happen  to  dwellers  at  hmno;  and  to  tin-in,  sur- 
rounded with  every  in-door  comfort  that  wealth  <>r 
thrift  can  procure,  they  bring  little  temptation  to 
complain  or  murmur.  But,  to  the  poor,  whose 
dwellings  are  not  proof  against  the  st»»rin;  whose 
habitations  are  dark  and  disconsolate,  unless  cheered 
by  the  light  of  the  sun;  whose  out-door  labour  it  is 
that  puts  bread  into  their  mouths, — such  days  come 
as  seasons  of  discipline,  and  bring  with  them  discom- 
fort and  trial,  that  must  be  known  to  be  realized. 

To  emigrants  of  every  class,  a  rainy  day  is  a  dis- 
appointment. To  see  the  blue  sky  overcast  with 
threatening  clouds,  and  a  settled  gloom  spread  over 
the  whole  horizon ;  to  hear  the  breezes  rustle  fit- 


THE   RAINY    PAY'S   JOURNEY.  93 


fully  in  the  tree-tops;  to  see  the  birds  move  off  with 
rapid  wing,  and  hear  their  short,  quick  notes,  tell- 
ing of  a  coming  storm ;  to  feel  the  pattering  rain- 
drops, as  they  fall  upon  the  green  leaves ;  and  to 
know  that,  with  the  exception  of  an  occasional 
cabin,  the  road  stretches  for  miles  through  paths 
unfrequented,  save  by  travellers  like  themselves; 
and  to  know  that  their  only  resources  for  comfort, 
warmth,  and  dryness  are  comprised  within  the  nar- 
row limits  of  their  own  wagon, — it  is  all  this  which 
makes  a  rainy  day  so  much  dreaded  by  an  emigrant. 
Such  a  day  was  the  one  preceding  the  arrival  of  Mr. 
Moreton's  family  at  their  new  home. 

The  early  morning  hud  come  with  a  bright  dawn* 
ing;  yet  there  were  tokens  of  coming  rain  that 
caused  them  hurriedly  to  despatch  their  breakfast, 
and  to  gather  themsi •!•.  VT  for  starting  as 

soon  as  possible.     To  do  this,  th  be  some 

hurry  and  bustle,  some  anxiety  and  ear.',  lest  any 
thing  should  be  forgotten  or  misplaced.  Cloaks 
and  shawls  must  be  found  for  Mrs.  Moivtmi  and  the 
girls,  and  the  "rubber  coats  and  leggins,"  with  "  the 
SQu'-u:c*tc.r  hats,"  must  betaken  out  for  Mr.  Moreton 
and  his  sons.  The  mid-day  meal  must  be  arranged, 
so  that  it  could  be  easily  reached,  and  taken  without 
exposure  to  the  weather.  Little  Annie  must  have 
the  warmest,  driest  place,  and  the  best  cushion 
must  be  placed  for  the  mother.  All  this  done,  and 
cheerfully  done,  and  every  thing  finally  arranged, 


94  LIFE    IX    THE    AVI>T. 


the  horses  started  at  a  brisk  trot,  while  our  travel- 
lers, forgetful  of  the  past  inconvenience  attending  so 
hasty  a  transit,  were  looking  up  the  causes  they  had 
for  congratulation  in  their  present  circumstances. 
Frank  was  the  first  to  say — 

"  How  fortunate  that  it  did  not  begin  to  rain 
until  all  our  goods  were  under  cover,  and  we  almost 
ready  for  the  start  !'' 

B,"  said  Annie;  "and  how  fortunate,  too, 
that  the  clouds  came  as  messengers,  to  let  us  know 
that  we  must  hurry  !" 

"We  shall  not  be  troubled  with  the  du.-t,  t 
dear  Annie/'  whispered  Mary ;    "  and  that  will  be 
better  for  your  cough." 

"It  really  seems  quite  like  home,"  said  Mrs. 
Moreton,  "to  get  so  many  of  us  together  again. 
AVhen  one  of  you  were  in  Michael's  wagon,  and  an- 
other with  Henry,  and  some  of  you  walking  by  the 
roadside,  I  was  almost  lonely,  and  had  to  take  my 
knitting-work,  for  company.  To-day,  we  are  quite  u 
family  party." 

"  How  beautifully  the  rain-drops  lie  on  the  fresh, 
green  leaves !"  exclaimed  Mary.  "  A  bright  sun 
would  make  them  glisten  like  jewels  !" 

"And  a  longer  withholding  of  his  beams  will 
make  the  fresh,  green  leaves  fresher  and  greener," 
replied  Mr.  Moreton.  "  This  rain  falls  opportunely 
for  the  wheat-fields,  and  probably  reaches  ours." 

"  Our  wheat-fields!"    How  pleasantly  that  sound 


THE    RAINY    PAY*S    Jol'IlNKY.  95 


fell  upon  their  cars,  telling  of  a  resting-place  for  the 
weary,  the  end  of  their  fatiiruhiir  journey,  their 
Jiomc,  and  that,  too,  near  at  hand !  The  natural 
hopefulness  of  youth  painted  that  home  in  bright 
colours  to  the  fancies  of  our  youthful  friends ;  and, 
in  guessing  how  it  would  look,  in  hearing  how  it 
did  look,  and  in  telling  how  they  meant  it  should 
look,  the  hours  sped  on.  When  weary  of  this,  there 
was  Willie,  with  his  never-ending  fund  of  riddles 
for  them  to  guess;  there  was  Susan,  who  could 
narrate  such  beautiful  tales  and  stories;  th<-iv  \\;is 
the  mother,  with  her  memory  stored  with  beautiful 
ballads  and  curious  verses;  there  was  Mary, 
ready  to  give  them  a  song;  and  Frank  and  Charlie, 
with  strong  lungs,  always  good  at  a  chorus.  Then 
Robert  called  out  to  them,  with  his  genial  laugh  and 
merry  tones,  proposing  hard  questions  in  arithmetic 
and  history — questions  that  puzzl  tan  and 

Mary  ;  and,  above  all,  there  was  the  father,  without 
whom  no  enjoyment  was  quite  complete,  entering 
into  each  and  every  endeavour  to  make  the  rainy 
day  pass  pleasantly.  Then,  when  Henry,  attracted 
by  the  merriment,  looked  in  upon  them,  with  his 
coat-collar  turned  up  above  his  ears  and  his  glazed 
hat  covered  with  rain-drops,  and  made  believe  that 
he  was  a  stray  traveller,  and  asked  for  charity,  oh  ! 
how  merrily  they  laughed,  and  how  curiously  they 
questioned  him  concerning  his  family,  his  home, 
and  his  prospects  !  But  he  did  not  laugh ;  not  he  ! 


96  LIFE    IN    THE    WEST. 


Who  ever  saw  a  beggar-man  laugh,  while  asking  for 
help  ?     But  steadily  and  soberly  he  besought : 

"Pity  the  sorrows  of  a  hungry  man, 

Whose  stout  young  legs  have  borne  him  to  your  cart ; 
Who,  out  of  breath,  hath  hither  quickly  ran, 
To— to— " 

But,  alas  !  no  rhyming  line  could  he  think  of;  and 
it  was  Mary  who  supplied  his  need,  by  adding — 

"To  get  a  bit  to  eat,  before  you  start." 

Then,  no  famous  ode  of  famous  poet  was  ever  re- 
ceived with  more  rapturous  applause  than  Henry's 
extempore  attempt  at  a  parody ;  and  no  performance 
ever  so  entirely  satisfied  an  audience  as  his  pn-sona- 
tion  of  a  beggar.  With  liberal  hands,  they  filled 
his  pockets,  showering  upon  him  crackers  and  cakes, 
and,  with  more  liberal  tongues,  bestowed  their  praise 
and  words  of  admiration. 

It  was  towards  the  close  of  this  day,  that  our  tra- 
vellers suddenly  halted  in  their  course,  and  drew  up 
together.  There,  in  the  road,  was  a  cart,  loaded  to 
its  utmost  capacity,  with  one  wheel  fast  in  a  deep 
hole,  or,  in  Western  phrase,  slewed.  The  strength 
of  the  two  miserable  and  worn-looking  horses  at- 
tached to  the  vehicle  was  insufficient  to  start  it  from 
its  position ;  and  the  master,  Patrick  McConey,  had 
put  his  shoulder  to  the  wheel,  in  the  hope  of  adding 
his  strength  to  theirs,  while  his  wife  had  placed  her 
three  children  on  the  grass  by  the  roadside,  and, 


THE   RAINY   PAY'S   JOURNEY.  97 


with  whip  in  hand,  was  vainly  striving  to  prompt  the 
wearied  animals  to  greater  effort. 

To  take  two  of  the  best  horses  from  Mr.  Moreton's 
:»n,  and  "hitch"  them  before  those  belonging  to 
McConey,  was  the  work  of  but  a  few  moments.  To 
lift  from  the  wagon  the  heavy  chest  and  box,  and 
then  to  give  "  the  long  pull,  the  strong  pull,  and  the 
pull  all  together/'  that  would  release  them  from 
their  unwilling  durance;  to  aid  in  tying  up  the 
broken  and  strained  harness;  to  fa.-tm  and  make 
sure  the  unfortunate  wheel;  and  to  replace  children 
and  irnnds  in  the  wagon, — occupied  not  many  i;, 
And  then,  falling  in  the  rear  nf  th«-  company,  Patrick 
p  his  place  with  them,  that 

he  might  have  the  benefit  of  their  guidance,  their 
company,  and  their  assi>tann-,  if  h-  again   fell   into 

trouble. 

Now  Patrick  was  a  sample  of  emigration  that  was 
not  very  inviting,  lie  was  an  Irishman,  who  had 
landed,  two  years  before,  with  his  wife  and  family, 
at  Quebec.  Those  two  years,  he  had  struggled  with 
great  poverty  and  want.  Discouraged  with  his  coji- 
dition,  and  feeling  that  thi-iv  was  no  prospect  of  bet- 
tering it  there,  he  had  availed  himself  of  the  first 
opportunity  to  change  it.  With  the  money  rui-  <l 
by  the  sale  of  such  household  goods  as  he  possessed, 
they  had  passed  up  the  St.  Lawrence  and  through 
the  Lakes,  as  steerage  or  deck  passengers,  and 
finally  landed  in  Sandusky.  This  had  been  in 


98  LIFE    IN    THE    WEST. 


the  fall ;  and  although,  on  first  arriving,  they  had, 
from  their  destitute  condition,  been  objects  of  public 
charity,  yet,  by  dint  of  hard  labour  and  hard  fare, 
and  a  willingness  to  ask  for  and  accept  aid,  they  had 
been  enabled  to  get  together,  by  the  next  summer, 
the  miserable  outfit  of  an  old  wagon  and  two  broken- 
down  horses.  A  bundle  of  straw  served  for  a  bed, 
a  tattered  quilt  or  two  answered  for  covering  and 
protection.  Two  stools,  an  iron  kettle,  a  painted 
chest,  tied  up  with  a  rope,  a  cask  of  pork,  and  a 
sack  of  potatoes,  completed  their  assortment  of  what 
Willie  called,  not  «  goods/'  but "  lads."  They  were, 
indeed,  objects  of  compassion — not  so  much  for  their 
destitute  condition,  as  for  their  ignorance.  Patrick's 
plan,  so  far  as  he  had  any,  was  to  go  on  until  lie 
found  a  spot  where  he  could  stop;  and,  after  that, 
his  only  idea  seemed  to  be  to  plant  some  wheat ! 
Where  this  place  was  to  be,  he  knew  not.  That  he 
had  little  or  no  money  to  buy  laud,  he  deemed  of 
slight  consequence;  for,  "sure,  and  wasn't  there 
land  enough  for  him  and  the  crathurs  anywhere  ?" 
And,  as  for  getting  a  living  out  of  it,  "  and  couldn't 
he  work  ?" 

That  he  had  health,  strength,  and  good-nature 
was  plainly  to  be  seen ;  but  that  he  was  ignorant, 
and,  from  his  want  of  judgment,  unable  to  provide 
for  himself  and  family,  there  could  be  little  doubt. 
Mr.  Moreton  tried,  in  vain,  to  convince  him,  that 
when  he  found  the  place  to  stop,  which  it  seemed 


THE   RAINY    DAY*fl    JOURNEY.  99 


that  he  would  do  soon,  from  his  horses  giving  out, 
he  had  no  right  to  any  land  ;  and  that,  even  if  al- 
lowed to  live  and  w»rk  upon  it  for  a  time,  as  he 
mii:ht  be,  he  was  liable,  at  any  moment,  to  be 
forced  by  its  owner  to  leave  it  and  give  up  any 
little  improvements  he  had  made  upon  it — thus 
lining  the  benefit  of  his  own  hard  labour.  Patrick 
could  not,  or  would  not,  understand.  His  only  re- 
ply was,  "  And,  sure,  if  I  wouldn't  go,  and  why 
couldn't  I  stay?" 

"I  will  help  him,  evm  Mgainst  his  will,"  thought 
Mr.  Moreton.  After  a  while,  he  called  him  to  him, 
and  said — 

"  Patrick,  I  am  going  to  be  a  farmer,  and  have 
bought  some  land,  which  my  sons  and  I  intend  to 
work.  But  there  will  be  a  great  deal  of  digging, 
and  ditching,  and  cutting  down  of  trees,  that  I  shall 
have  to  hire  done  for  us.  Now,  you  are  strong  and 
well,  and  able  to  work,  if  you  are  willing,  and  can 
be  a  great  help  to  us.  So  I  am  going  to  propose 
that  you  shall  stop  where  we  do,  put  up  a  shanty  on 
one  corner  of  my  land,  for  this  year,  and  live  there. 
You  shall  promise  to  do  what  work  I  ask  you  to  do, 
and  I  will  promise  to  give  you  employment  and 
pay  you  fair  wages  for  all  that  you  do.  What  do 
-ay  ?" 

Patrick's  heart  was  more  easily  reached  than  his 
comprehension ;  but,  when  he  understood  Mr.  More- 
ton's  proposal,  with  true  Irish  eloquence  of  tongue, 


100  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


he  poured  forth  a  torrent  of  thanks  and  praise,  in 
which  his  wife  Winne  joined,  with  less  noise,  but 
more  true  feeling.  Poor  woman  !  A  home  would 
be  to  her  a  blessing;  and  she  knew  it;  for,  worn 
and  weary  with  her  many  cares  and  labours,  she 
had  looked,  day  by  day,  for  a  time  of  rest,  which 
had  never  yet  come.  Thriftless  and  ignorant  as  she 
was,  she  knew,  better  than  Patrick,  the  value  of 
Mr.  Moreton's  offer  to  them,  for  she  had  i*xperi<  i 
too  many  disappointments  to  place  much  dependence 
upon  her  husband's  plans,  and  knew  well  the  delu- 
sive nature  of  those  hopes  with  which  lie  had  been 
buoyed  up. 

From  this  time,  Patrick  McConey  was  a  part  of 
Mr.  Moreton's  family ;  and  our  readers  will  pardon 
this  digression,  as  it  serves  to  introduce  to  them  one 
who,  with  his  strong  arm  and  willing  mind,  became 
an  aid  and  a  helper  to  our  emigrant  family. 


PART  II. 

LAKELAND. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  XI.— LAKELAND 107 

XII.— THE  LOG-CABIN 1~<> 

XIII.— PATRICK'S  UOME l-l 

XIV.—  NEIGHBOURS 1  !- 

XV.— THOMAS  REVERE !•">- 

XVL— MART'S  LETTER 

XVII.— FARMING 170 

XVIII.— CHARLES  MORETOX 1M 

XIX. — LETTERS 1'.'7 

\r* 
XX. — THE  CHURCH  AND  THE  MINISTER 200 

XXI. — THE  STEAM  SAW-MILL  AND  THE  DISTILLERY  J 1 7 
XXII.— WILLIE  MORETON'S  DEATH ±^ 

106 


CHAPTER  XT. 

I.AKl 

" Now  we  see  the  lights  !  There  !  Look !  look! 
Don't  you  see  them  twinkle  ?  There !  Between 
the  trees,  Ally.  Now,  don't  you  see  th 

Ally's  eyes  were  heavy  with  sleep,  and  s<>  \V.TO 
Willie's ;  but  his  expectation  being  stronger,  he 
roused  himself  to  look  in  the  direction  that  Charles 
pointed  out.  And  there  they  were  ! 

"One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  and  seven/'  he 
counted  ;  and  then,  after  a  pause,  "  eight,  nine,  ten; 
and  a  very  pale  one  ten  is,"  said  he.  "  Is  it  really 
Lakeland,  father?" 

"  Yes,  my  son." 

"It  don't  look  as  Buffalo  did,  at  night,  father," 
said  Willie,  in  a  disappointed  tone. 

"  Not  much,  to  be  sure,  my  son.  Did  you  think 
that  it  would  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir;  but  it  is  not  much  to  see." 

"  Had  you  not  better  wait  until  you  really  see  it, 
Willie,  before  you  decide  about  it  ?" 

The  nightfall  had  but  just  set  in,  and,  still  riding 

in  the  woods,  it  was  hardly  fair  to  judge  of  the  aj>- 

107 


108  LIFE   IX   THE   WEST. 


pearance  of  the  little  Western  settlement,  when  the 
shadows  of  trees  and  houses  could  hardly  be  distin- 
guished from  each  other.  Yet,  as  they  approached 
nearer,  and  more  lights  threw  their  twinkling  beams 
across  the  dim  prospect,  they  found  the  houses 
nearer  and  nearer  together,  and  the  trees  fewer  and 
farther  between.  The  approach  to  the  village  was 
nearly  straight  for  a  mile  or  two,  so  that  they  had 
been  able  to  discern  the  first  glimmerings  of  light 
while  at  a  distance.  It  would  be  difficult  to  analyze 
or  describe  the  various  feelings  that  were  awakened 
in  those  different  minds,  as  these  first  met  their  view. 
Although  every  settlement  through  which  they  had 
passed  had  been  compared  with  Lakeland,  as  to  its 
situation,  its  size,  its  houses,  its  stores,  and  its  farms, 
and  Mr.  Moreton  had  aimed  at  giving  a  correct  im- 
pression of  the  place,  there  was  an  undcfinable  feel- 
ing that  it  must  be  rather  a  wonderful  place,  or  it 
never  would  have  been  selected  by  their  father 
residence.  And  the  children  were  disappointed; 
for  it  was  far  from  being  a  remarkably  attractive- 
looking  village.  But  the  disappointments  of  early 
youth  are  not  lasting,  and  this  bid  fair  to  pass  away, 
even  before  the  place  was  reached.  The  older  ones 
had  judged  more  rationally.  Every  object  was  to 
them  full  of  interest.  Their  curiosity  was  power- 
fully excited,  and  they  were  too  thoughtful  to  be 
talkative  or  very  merry,  as  they  neared  their  new 
home. 


LAKELAND.  100 


Tli;it  night,  they  Were  to  Lr"  to  the  village  public- 
hou-  M  'on  lia<l  made  arrangements 

for  their  -trying  f'»r  a  few  days,  until  they  wore 
•  1  fn»m  their  fatigue,  and  had  time  t-»  make 
the  prej>  a  rations  f-»r  removal  to  their  own 

dwelling. 

A  -  Mrs.  Moreton  alighted  upon  the  rude  platform 
at  the  hotel-door,  and  saw  herself  surrounded  hy  the 
whom  curiosity  had  drawn  from  the 
bar-room  to  gaze  upon  the  new-comers,  there  was 
some  sinking  of  heart ;  for  she  felt  that  they  were 
strangers  in  a  ^  1.  When  she,  looked  around 

upon  the  room  into  which  sbe  wa  .  and  saw 

indubitable  marks  of  poverty  and  labour,  with  little 
of  that  neatness  or  tidiness  which  a  careful  husbanding 
of  small  means  will  produce.  llmOfl  discou- 

raged by  the  annoyances  and  inconveniences  which, 
she  felt,  would  soon  surround  her.  The  responsi- 
bility of  the  happiness  and  interests  of  her  children 
fell  heavily  upon  her  heart,  and,  for  the  moment, 
sbe  almost  regretted  having  left  New  England.  It 
was  but  for  a  moment.  Like  a  wise  woman,  sbe 
bad  counted  the  cost  before  starting;  and,  like  a 
Christian,  she  now  cast  aside  every  personal  feeling, 
and  subdued  every  selfish  emotion — summoning  up 
all  her  powers  of  resolution,  while  again  she  silently 
committed  her  way  unto  Him  who  alone  could  lighten 
ber  path. 

The  cheerful  voice  of  the  landlady,  Mrs.  Blake, 


110  LIFE   IN   THE    WEST. 


fo: 


aroused  her  from  her  reverie,  as  she  entered  the 
room  and  cordially  bade  her  "  welcome  to  Lakeland  I" 
Then,  bustling  about,  she  took  the  bonnets  and  outer 
garments  of  the  little  ones,  giving  each  a  j.l 
word,  and  telling  them  that  she  had  been  looking 

>r  them,  every  day,  for  a  week.     Who  can  tell 
power  of  a  cheerful  smile  ?  Of  an  encotirugiu<:,  1. 
ful  word  ?     II ow  they  come  to  the  oj 
as  balm  to  a  wound  !     How  they  awaki -n 
and  pleasant  expectation,  dispelling  sadness  and  dis- 
trust !     "  A  word  spoken  in  due  season,  how  good 
is  it!"  was  the  saying  of  the  wise  man;  and  who 
has  not  experienced  its  truth  ? 

Food  and  places  of  rest  were  soon  provided  for 
our  travellers.  It  mattered  little* to  them  that  the 
one  was  plain  and  simple,  the  other  rude  and  c 
Sound  and  refreshing  sleep  visits  no  more  readily  the 
luxurious  couch  than  the  humblest;  and  they  were 
too  tired  and  weary  to  care,  save  for  quiet  ami  - 
liness.  This  they  found  in  the  home  of  Mrs.  Blake; 
andtshe  herself  was  ready,  with  true  Western  whole- 
heartedness,  to  do  whatever  was  in  her  power  to  as- 
sist them,  or  to  add  to  their  comfort  or  pleasure — 
deeming  no  service  menial,  if  it  contributed  to  their 
good,  nor  any  office  trifling,  if  it  increased  their  hap- 
piness. 

But  what  kind  of  a  place  was  Lakeland  ?  do  any 
of  my  readers  ask.  Was  there  any  thing  peculiar 
in  it  or  about  it  ? 


LAKELAND.  Ill 


f  all.     It  differed  so  little  from  other 
Western  villages,  that  it  might  he  tak<  niple 

of  the  whole.  It  had  every  advantage  of  position  that 
an  inland  Western  town  can  have,  save  that  of  water- 
power  ;  and  that  is  not  always  a  desirahle  one  in  a 
new  country.  It  was  situated  on  the  travelled  road 

veen  two  of  the  larger  t«>wns  in  Indiana,  and  was 
itself  a  county-seat.  7  (for  so  they  called 

the  cluster  of  houses  which  stood  together)  was  upon 
the  edge  of  a  small  prairie,  but  was,  itself,  in  an 
opening,  from  which  all  the  original  growth  of 
forest-trees  had  been  cleared,  and  the  iields  on  every 

.  for  the  distance  of  one  or  two  miles,  had  been 

•-.'d  in  and  cultivated.     The  villa-  and 

lots  had  been  regularly  laid  out ;  the  houses  were 
buildings,  painted  with  a  thin  coat  of 
white,  and  placed  directly  upon  the  street.     ( ) 
sionally,  one  would  have  gre«  ;   while  a  log- 

house,  here  and  there,  served  to  make  all  the  others 
inviting,  by  way  of  contrast.  Kv<  TV  \\V.-t»TU  village 
has  some  advantage — such  as  a  grist-mill,  a  saw-mill, 

:;nery,  a  foundry,  or  a  court-house.  Lakeland 
was  not  deficient  in  its  share  of  such  conveniences ; 
for,  of  course,  it  had  the  court-house ;  and,  besides, 
there  was  a  dilapidated  grist-mill  and  a  tannery. 
Among  the  inhabitants,  there  were  some  doctors, 
some  lawyers,  some  farmers,  some  merchants;  a 
shoemaker,  a  tailor,  a  carpenter,  a  wheelwright; 
some  people  who  lived  by  letting  out  their  land 


112  LIFE   IX   THE   WEST. 


upon  shares ;  some  whose  business  it  was  to  buy 
and  sell  land ;  some  who  spent  their  time  in  barter- 
ing, or  "dickering;"  and  some  whose  employment, 
or  enjoyment,  (for  it  seemed  to  partake  of  both,) 
was  trading  in  horses.  Among  the  men,  there  ap- 
peared little  of  the  hurry  and  bustle  of  going  about 
their  occupation  and  business  that  characterizes 
Eastern  communities ;  for  either  the  climate  or  the 
manner  of  life  had  tended  to  give  a  lassitude  of  mo- 
tion, that  left  a  doubt  in  the  minds  of  our  friends 
as  to  whether  those  about  thorn  were  lazy  or  Mck, 
or  whether  any  one  meant  to  work,  at  all,  that  day. 

The  arrival  of  a  family  is  a  cir  in  a 

quiet  Western  village.  It  interests  the  principal 
men,  because  they  are  often  the  landholders,  and 
are  desirous  of  seeing  their  town  growing  and  flou- 
rishing ;  so  that  the  success  of  the  settlers  is  of  im- 
portance to  them.  It  interests  the  mechanics;  for 
they  look  for  work,  and  its  consequent  remuneration. 
It  interests  the  benevolent  and  the  public-spirited ; 
for  they  hope  to  have  their  hands  sustained  and 
their  hearts  cheered  by  congenial  minds.  It  inte- 
rests the  poor  and  the  needy ;  for  they  think  an- 
other source  of  help  will  be  opened  to  them. 

The  women  are  interested ;  for  the  prospect  of 
companionship  and  extended  social  intercourse  is 
ever  pleasant  to  those  whose  active  minds  and 
friendly  feelings  do  not  find  full  scope  in  the  quietly 
monotonous  life  they  lead.  The  young  people,  too, 


118 


arc  pleased  with  every  arrival  ;  for  change  and  va- 
itfl  them.  All  these  causes  con- 
spired to  make  the  arrival  of  Mr  .'s  family 
the  new?  of  the  day.  There  was  hardly  a  family 
who  did  not  know,  before  breakfast,  on  the  day  fol- 
lowing, that  they  had  come  ;  and  many  stopped  to 

upon  them,  as  they  stood  near  the  doorway,  or 
sauntered  in  the  village  Bfc 

The  farm  which  M.  D  had  purchas- 

from   the  village,  and  was   an    //  "lie ; 

that   is.  it   had  been   li  :   and  worked  by  a 

'  1  with  all  its   improve- 
ments   and   its    planted    ti»-l  Is.      It    was    C 
a    v TV    d  '^cation,   having    Ml  s  of 

prairie-land,  which  were  now  fenced   in  with  a  | 
Virginia  fence,  and  planted  with  wlx-at,  which  was 

in;.:  and  promising  finely.      Part  nf   this  farm 
mil    fcfao    heavily-timbered    with 

ihj  and    black-walmr  g   thickly  to* 

<T  in  the  dark,  rich  soil,  to  a  great  height. 
That  part  of  the  land   lying   towards  the  village 
had  an  irregular  surface,  and   the  fie!-'  the 

!  presented  a  fine  slope,  stretching  up  from  the 

lence  of  the  present  occupant.     A  poor,  forlorn 

habitation  did  the  house  of  Mr.  llinckley  seem,  to 

the  party  who  visited  it  from  among  our  friends,  the 

after  their  arrival.      It  was  a  double  cabin, 

built  of  half-hewn  logs;   i.  6.1ogs  rou^h  upon  the 

Me,  but   hewn  within  ;  t  no  connection 

10 


114  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


between  the  two  parts,  though  they  stood  at  the 
distance  of  but  a  few  feet  from  each  other.  One  of 
these  rooms  or  houses  had  a  chimney  built  of  mud 
and  stones.  This  was  upon  the  outside  of  the  house, 
and  presented,  there,  rather  an  uncouth  appearance ; 
but  left  the  inner  wall  smooth,  and  only  cut  for  the 
fire-place.  The  windows  were  small  aud  few.  The 
door  opened  with  a  latch,  which  was  niaed  by  a 
leathern  string  on  the  outside,  and  secured  by  draw- 
ing the  string  in. 

The  family  to  whom  it  had  belonged  had  remain- 
ed until  Mr.  Moreton  came  to  claim  possession,  ac- 
cording to  agreement,  and  were  still  living  in  one 
part  of  the  cabin.  A  troop  of  white-haired,  sun- 
burnt children  scattered  at  the  approach  of  our 
friends,  as  if  frightened,  leaving  behind  them  only 
one  boy,  who  was  milking  a  cow  just  in  front  of  the 
closed  door.  He  was  about  twelve  years  of  age, 
well  grown,  bright-eyed,  and  intelligent-looking; 
but  his  face  had  an  expression  of  impudent  boldness, 
that  was  unpleasant.  To  31  r.  Moreton' s  "Good 
morning  !"  his  only  reply  was,  "  What  ?" 

"  Good  morning  !"  repeated  Mr.  Moreton.  "  Is 
jour  father  at  home  ?" 

"  He  ain't  anywhere  else,"  answered  the  boy. 

"  Can  I  see  him  ?"  asked  Mr.  Moreton. 

To  which  the  response  was  made  by  the  lad  rising 
suddenly  from  his  sitting  posture,  lifting  his  pail, 
and  giving  the  poor  cow  a  kick  on  the  leg,  which 


LAKELAND.  115 


sent  her  hurriedly  away  ;  he  then  opened  the  door, 
and  walked  in  first,  leaving  the  others  to  follow,  if 
they  pleased. 

This  was  a  specimen  of  manners  that  was  new  to 
the  children,  and  from  which  they  revolted,  as  con- 
trary to  their  ideas  of  politeness,  of  .Mid, 
almost,  of  decency.  Neither  did  it  pave  the  way 
for  a  pleasant  impression  when  th«-y  were  a<lm: 
within  the  Lmi.-e.  Mrs.  Hinekley  had  seen  the 
strangers  coming,  and  had  hurriedly  put  «-n  a  clean 
cap,  and  pinned  a  little  bright-c< (Inured  shawl  about 
her  neck.  She  now  came  forward  to  speak  with 
Mr.  Moreton,  and,  wiping  out  the  seats  of  two 
chairs,  she  hai  to  him  and  another  to  -Mary, 
who  had  accompanied  him.  While  doing  this,  tho 
quick  eyes  of  our  friends  had  wainl.'ivd  hither  and 
thither  about  the  room,  taking  in,  at  a  glance,  its 
present  uninviting  appearance,  and  its  capabi! 
for  comfort  as  their  own  summer  roMcm-.- !  The 
room  was  about  eighteen  feet  Bquare,  but  clean  and 
in  decent  order,  though  the  walls  and  floor  were 
dilapidated  and  out  of  repair.  The  fire-place  was 
opposite  the  door.  The  hearth,  of  hard-dried  clay 
mortar,  was  cracked  and  sunken.  The  floor  was 
roughly-planed  and  uneven  ;  the  walls  about  eight 
feet  high.  The  sleepers  of  the  chamber-floor  were 
small  sticks,  like  rails,  and  the  boards  above  rough 
and  full  of  knots.  By  the  window,  there  hung  a 
number  of  small  bottles,  or  phials,  some  filled  and 


116  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


others  empty,  fastened  to  nails,  with  strings  passed 
around  their  necks.  Upon  the  window-seat,  there 
was  a  piece  of  chalk,  and,  on  the  logs  above,  a  rude 
kind  of  scoring — the  only  business  memorial  of  Mr. 
Hinckley,  who  thus  kept  an  account  of  the  bushels 
of  wheat  and  corn  he  had  taken  to  market.  A  cheap 
looking-glass  was  hung  upon  the  wall,  but  it  \ 
upside  down,  and  a  picture  meant  to  ornament  its 
top  did  not  answer  that  purpose,  because  the  houses 
and  trees  were  seen  in  an  inverted  position.  Under 
the  glass,  there  was  a  little  table  or  stand,  covered 
with  a  white  cloth,  and  upon  it  there  stood  a  candle- 
stick ;  a  brush  and  comb  lay  -there,  too,  and  a 
large  piece  of  beeswax,  in  whose  sides  stout  threads 
had,  in  passing,  cut  large  dents  and  gashes.  Be- 
sides, there  were  some  horn-buttons,  some  coarse 
knitting-work,  a  snarl  of  black  thread,  and  a  pair  of 
large  shears.  The  chairs  that  Mrs.  Hinckley  had 
offered  to  her  visitors  were  all  that  the  house  af- 
forded, except  a  low  one,  on  the  seat  of  which  lay  a 
pillow,  and,  upon  the  pillow,  a  little  baby.  That  it 
might  be  quiet,  an  older  girl  rocked  it  to  and  fro, 
with  hard,  irregular  movements;  and,  while  doing 
this,  it  was  kept  safely  in  its  position  by  a  shawl, 
which  passed  over  it  and  under  the  seat  of  the  chair, 
holding  both  baby  and  pillow  tightly  in  their  places. 
Another  child,  just  able  to  go  alone,  was  amusing 
itself  upon  the  bed  with  a  large  green  glass  bottle 
and  a  dry  ear  of  corn,  in  the  husk,  as  playthings, 


l.AKKI.AND.  117 


-idering  first  one,  then  the  other,  as  dolls,  and 

'HIT  them  with   the   utmost  care.     There  were 

]-«-ds  :    Uit    it  was  early  yet,  and    they  were   not 

spread-up  for  the  day  ;   and   the   hivakfa.-t-talde  was 

still  .  with   the  remains  of  the   morning  re- 

up«m  it — proving  that  that  repast  had  been  one 

at  which  no  luxury  had  appeared  to  tempt  or  please 

the  appetite. 

Whatever  their  thoughts  or  fancies,  Mr.  Moreton 

and   Mary  were  too  cor  Hit,  I  line!-; ' 

feelings  to  express  either  surprise  or  pity.     It  was 

plainly  to  be  seen  that  poverty  and  hard  labour  had 

wrought  in  her  mind  <!;-  nent  and  sadness; 

.  while  she   strove   to  sj>  r fully  of  their 

ling  there  to  live,  and   praised   the   melon-patch 

and  the  young  peach-trees  and  eurrant-lm-hes,  that 

If  taken  care  of,  as  well    U 

there  were  tears  in   her  eyes,  and  her  tones  told  of 
disappointment  and  sorrow. 

It  was  from  no  sudden  freak  of  fancy,  or  desire  to 
move,  that   Mr.  Hinckley  had  disposed  of  his  farm 
in  Lakeland.     lie  knew  its  value  and  appiv 
advantages.     But  his  course  had  been  deficient  in 
good  judgment,  and  he  was  obliged  to  sell.    Having 
u  up  too  much  land  at  first,  he  had  become  em- 
barrassed for  means  to  pay  his  yearly  taxes.    Every 
year  he  became  more  and  more  involved ;  and,  see- 
ing that  there  was  no  apparent  means  of  escape  from 
10* 


118  LIFE    IX    THE    WEST. 


his  liabilities,  lie  had  become  d 
and,  with  a  rash  indiscretion,  made  his  condition 
worse  than  it  need  have  been — saying,  that  "one 
might  as  well  be  hung  for  stealing 
Umb/1  This  is  an  old  maxim,  but  an  untrue  and  an 
unsafe  one  to  act  upon.  So  Mr.  Ilinckl.-y  found  it; 
for  this  course  had  made  it  unavoidable  that  his 
farm  should  pass  from  his  hands,  and,  with  it,  ho 
had  lost  his  reputation  as  a  good  farmer,  be 
contracting  habits  of  indolence  and  thriftlcssness, 
that  were  sure  barriers  to  his  future  prosperity. 
The  first  tool  that  he  left  to  pass  the  winter  in  the 
field  where  it  was  used,  and  the  first  door  that  he 
allowed  to  remain  off  its  hinges,  were  greater  losses 
to  him  than  money  could  repay  ;  for  they  were  the 
beginnings  of  carelessness — the  openings  to  that 
sloth  and  heedlessness  that  were  now  prominent 
traits  in  his  character. 

After  chatting  a  few  moments  with  Mrs.  Ilinckley, 
Mr.  More  ton  left  the  house  to  seek  her  husband. 
Mary,  meanwhile,  tried  to  talk  with  the  children ; 
and,  with  the  aid  of  kind  words  and  pleasant  smiles, 
had,  before  his  return,  so  far  progressed  in  acquaint- 
ance with  them,  that  she  had  the  little  one  in  her 
lap,  and  another,  shyly  sidling  up  to  her,  was  feel- 
ing the  trimming  on  her  dress,  with  as  much  care 
and  caution  as  if  it  were  some  new  species  of  animal, 
that  must  be  approached  by  stratagem. 


110 


Robert  and  Henry  we iv  still   exj'i«rin;:  the   lields 
and    w«  ».»•.;>    whrii   Mr.    '  Mary,    ami    1-Yunk 

return-''!  t«)  tlit-  inn,  rarryini:  the  plra-ant  inti-lli- 
gcnce  that  the  log-cabin  was  to  bo  Driven  up  to 
tin-in  nn  th«>  f.illn\vinir  day,  and  that,  as  soon  as 
they  j'loa-,;d  after  that,  they  could  take  possession. 


120  LIFE    IN    THE    WEST. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    LOG-CAT. IN. 

To  make  a  good  and  pleasant  home  may  seem,  to 
some  of  my  readers,  as  a  very  easy  matter.  They 
may  think  that  a  family  like  Mr.  Moreton's  would 
have  only  to  place  their  furniture  within  their  li 
move  in,  and  the  work  was  done.  Others  may 
think  that  it  was  impossible  to  make  a  comfortable 
home  in  such  a  house  as  Mr.  Ilinckley's  Ing-cabin, 
and  that,  as  the  necessary  lumber  for  the  new  house 
was  already  upon  the  ground,  it  would  be  better  to 
wait  until  it  was  finished,  before  taking  possession 
of  the  premises. 

But  with  neither  of  these  opinions  would  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Moreton  have  agreed.  To  keep  together  and 
to  be  by  themselves  were,  with  them,  desirable  ob- 
jects; and,  to  attain  them,  they  were  willing  to  sub- 
ject themselves  to  additional  fatigue  and  care.  As 
they  were,  the  habits  of  regularity  and  family  order 
(already  broken  in  upon  during  their  journey)  might 
be  forgotten.  Idleness  was  encouraged,  too,  by  the 
desultory  modes  of  life  that  are  unavoidably  seen 
about  a  public-house.  Charlie  already  stood  by  the 


THE    LOG-CABIN*.  121 


.  dn'-.r,  with  his  hands  thrust  into  his  pock 

ing  to  such  ch;r 

tii'ii  add  gather  from  passers-by  or  from 

travellers.     He,  as  well  as  the  others,  must  have  cm- 

i  something  which  would  interest  them 
and  occupy  their  hands  and  thoughts.      And,  above 
all,  31  r.  Mure  ton  dreaded  their  becoming  familiari. 
and  consequently  iudiff  i  1 1  sights  and 

.ds  that  are  alv,  Mid  heard  in  tk 

plans    uhere  intoxicating  liquors  are   bought    and 
sold.     For  all  tliese  reasons,  as  well  as  for  the  I 
of  freedom  from  observation,  they  deeided  to  "move 
in"  a>  x.on  as  possible. 

And  now  did  the  strong-bodied  and  willing  "NVinuc 
in  well;   for  scrubbing  and  clean- 
just  what  she  could  do,  and  here  there  was 
plenty  of  it  to  be  done. 

A  thin  partition  was  run  across  the  cabin  in  which 

the   lire-place,   mak  ..,m    and 

pantry  on  one  side,  and  still  leaving  the  larger  room 

of  sutlicicnt  size  to  answer  as  the  family  gathering- 

— parlour,  sitting-room,  and  kitchen,  all  in  one. 

Two  more  windows  were  cut;  and,  with  the  IV 

air,  came  in  the  bright  sunshine,  giving  to  the  apart- 

.t  a  new  and  cheerful  aspect.     The  loft  above 

was  to  be  used  as  a  store-house  for  such  boxes  and 

trunks,  chests  and  provisions,  as  needed  a  dry  and 

warm  place. 

The  other  cabin  was  also  cleaned  thoroughly,  and 


122  LIFE    IN    THE    AVMST. 


divided  into  rooms.     One  of  these  was  appropri- 
to  Susan,  Mary,  and  the  little  girls;   while  the  other 
and  the  room  above  were  to  be  divid<  d  the 

boys.     No  little  loving  strife   of  words  was  t! 
before  the  younger  lads  would  consent  to  occupy  the 
lower  room,  which  was,  by  far,  the  best  and  i 
pleasant.     They  declared  that  "  they  were  of  little 
use,  and  deserved  the  worst prii. '•''/<//';"  while  Henry 
and  Robert  as  loudly  avenvd   that  they  intended 
"  to  work   so  hard  every  day,  and  to  be   so  tired 
every  ni<_rht,   that   they  should  e<>nsi<l  1   ;i 

luxury;"   and,  besides,   "they  were  always  sound 
sleepers."       So,  finally,  it  was  settled  as  the  older 
desired. 

It  seemed  as  if  every  difficulty  vanished  tb 
inent   they    fairly   considered   it.     The    little   shelf 
here  and  the  row  of  stout  nails  there,  the  han_ 
of  a  curtain,  the  placing  of  a  trunk  in  one  spot  and 
of  a  table  in  another,  appeared  wonderfully  to  suit 
every  one  and  to  accommodate  every  want.     Ah  ! 
it  was  not  that,  but  the  spirit  of  disinter* 
that  smoothed  their  way  and  made  little  sacrifices 
of  personal  feeling  easy.     It  was  love  that  lightened 
their  burdens  and  warmed  their  hearts — each  seek- 
ing to  please  the  others  rather  than  themselves,  and 
cheerfully  yielding  their  own  will  to  the  desire  of 
another  ! 

A  busy  and  cheerful  scene  did  they  present  on 
the  morning  of  the   day  when  they,  as  a  family, 


THE    LOG-CABIN.  123 


took  in  of  the  l»'g-h<mse.     The  carpenter's 

work  had  been  accompli  shed,  and  Whim's  serem 
lal><»urs  in  the  cleaning  line  finished,  the  day  pre- 
vious; but  now  she  stood  leaning  over  a  wa<h-tub, 
that  was  placed  under  the  shade  nf  the  only  tree 
near  the  house,  busy  at  her  work,  while  her  children 
were  playing  within  sight  of  her  maternal  eye  and 
within  hearing  of  her  voice,  as,  in  rather  harsh 
!ig  some  Irish  melody — wild,  but  not 
without  harmony,  as  it  sounded  in  tin-  ..pen  air. 
meanwhile,  was  going  round,  outside  of  the 
building,  with  Mr.  Muretnn,  carrying  a  pail  full  <>f 
clay-mortar  and  a  wooden  trowel  manufactured  for 
the  occasion ;  and,  under  his  direction  and  superin- 
tendence, filling  up  the  chinks  between  the  logs. 
Within.  Henry  and  Frank  took  turns  in  using  a 
whitewash-brush,  laying  the  thick,  white  liquid  in 
smooth,  straight  stripes  upon  the  di>coluured  ! 
and  calling,  every  minute,  to  the  others,  to  come 
and  admire  their  work. 

Robert,  meanwhile,  with  saw  and  rule  in  hand, 
was  measuring  and  fitting  up  an  emptied  box  with 
sbelves,  and  fastening  it  in  a  corner  near  the  fire- 
place. This  was  to  be  their  cupboard;  and  Susan's 
nimble  fingers  had  a  chintz  curtain  hemmed  and 
drawn,  ready  to  hang  before  it,  long  before  it  was 
finished.  Then,  with  Annie's  help,  she  bung  clean 
white  curtains  at  the  little  windows ;  and  upon  the 
little  shelf,  which  had  been  placed  between  them 


124  LIFE    IN    THE    WEST. 

for  the  clock,  she  found  room  for  the  Bible  and 
almanac,  and  for  a  thermometer.  These  she  called 
their  emigrant  fortune — utterly  indispensable  to 
their  comfort  and  success. 

Mary  and  Frank  had  unpacked  and  washed  the 
crockery,  and  carefully  placed  it  upon  the  cupboard- 
shclves,  long  before  noon  ;  and  Mrs.  Moreton  had  her 
daughter's  aid  in  arranging  their  beds  and 
apartments — seeing  that  cadi  one  was  lodged  com- 
fortably, and  that  they  had  such  conveniences  about 
them  as  should  insure  health,  and,  so  far  ; 
stances  permitted,  comfort. 

But  where  were  Willie  and  Alice  ?  Not  idle,  I 
can  assure  you.  There  were  errands  to  be  done 
from  one  to  another,  that  kept  their  little  feet  run- 
ning and  their  tongues  busy;  there  wrr«-  needles  to 
be  threaded,  nails  and  hammers  to  be  In  -Id  until 
the  moment  they  were  wanted.  Then  the  dinner 
was  to  be  brought  from  the  village-inn,  and  Charles 
and  Willie  were  its  bearers.  After  that,  they 
scoured  the  knives,  and  made  themselves  generally 
useful  about  the  premises — looking  up  little  things 
to  do,  which  would  help  the  older  ones  in  their 
work. 

Before  sundown,  every  thing  was  arranged  in  their 
new  quarters,  and  they  began  to  feel  at  home,  as  the 
sight  of  familiar  household  articles  gave  a  home- 
look  to  the  place.  .  .  .  The  excitement  of  the  day 
was  over,  and  they  were  fairly  fixed  in  their  Western 


TIIK    LOG-CABIN.  1-5 


home.  The  little  flickering  blaze  from  the  deep 
chinm.'Y  :pon  the  whitened  walls, 

and  the  lengthened  twilight  from  without  streamed 
in  at  the  open  door,  showing  th.>  family  group — 
father,  m»thcr,  and  children — gathered  together  in 
the  cool  of  the  day,  resting  from  its  fatigues — weary, 
but  satisfied  with  the  result  of  their  labours,  and 
contented  with  their  present  condition,  while  the 
futur.  ihein,  full  of  hope. 

"How    c'.mfortable    this    is!''    said    Mary.      "I 

should  n  thought  that,  in  so  short  a  time, 

such  a  change  could  have  been  made  as  there  has 

n    here.       When   I   came   out   here  to  see  Mrs. 

Iliiu-kley,   and   knew  that,  in  a  LUkft,    her 

house  was  to  be  our  home,  I  felt  discouraged.     It 

-siblc  to  make  it  (i  id,  as  for 

I  thought  that,  as  Uncle  Alfred   said,  l  we 

must  dispv.-n.se  with  that,  and  take  it  out  in  boasting 

about  the  West  being  a  great  country.'" 

my  hands  have  made  light  and  quick  work 
here,"    wa<    Mrs.  MoreUm's    reply,    "and    willing 
made  it  t 

"  If  any  one  is  to  have  a  compliment,  where  all 
have  done  well,"  said  Mr.  Moreton,  "it  must  be 
given  to  your  mother,  my  children ;  to  whose  fore- 
thought and  labour,  before  we  left  Laurelton,  we 
have  been,  to-day,  so  much  indebted.  To  -have  se- 
lected and  packed  together  the  very  articles  we 
should  be  likely  to  need  first,  and  then  to  remem- 
11 


126  LIFE  IN  Tin: 


ber  just  where  they  were,  v, 

and  involved  much  thought  and  ju<l_  D  h»  r 

part.      Perhaps  you  think   it  ////y/ >///"/  that  t 
were  just  dishes  enough  for  us  to  use,  put  up  in  one 
box,  and  all  the  rest  put.  aw;iy  in  another  ;   and  that 
this  square  piece  of  carpet,  that  covers  all  the  middle 
of  this  room,  and  makes  it  look  and  !  i'>rt- 

able,  was  a  piece  that  we  have  al\vay<  had   in  just 
this  form,  and  that  it  came  first  in  th>    packftgi 
carpets  as  a  matter  of  chance;   but  I  know  who  ar- 
ranged both  of  these  things,  and  many   others,  of 
which  we  have  experienced  the  benefit,  both  mi  our 
journey  and  to-day.     It  took  time  and  made  e 
delay,  but  she  judged,  rightly,  that  it  would  help  us 
in  the  end/' 

Mary  cast  a  knowing  look  at  Frank,  to  s<  e  if  he 
remembered  his  impatience;  but,  though  he  saw  it 
not,  he  felt  that  he  had  been  wnu  id — 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  have  told  us  thi<.  father; 
for  it  did  seem  a  great  while  to  wait  ;  but  ir  iafeot 
the  first  time  I  have  thought  that  nothing  was  d<.iiiLr 
because  I  was  not  at  work,  and  have  afterwards 
found  out  that  I  was  mistaken." 

11  We  should  have  had  less  to  do,  if  we  had  not 
bad  so  many  boxes  and  chests  to  stow  away/'  said 
Henry.  "  We  have  more  things  than  we  need. 
Half  we  brought  is  all  we  can  use  here." 

"  We  shall  need  it  all  in  the  new  house ;  shall  we 
not,  father  ?" 


TIIK    1  127 


••  Y.  e  :   :>ud  much  more,  I  think." 

"But   shall   we    need    the    new    house?"   asked 
,11. 

"That  ivmainstobr  replied  Mr.  Moreton. 

••  AJ  "'!  comfortably  fixed  ;   but,  as 

tini'  ,',1  be  cramped  for  1-00:11,  and,  the 

novelty  of  our  position  passing  away,  we  shall  be 
more  dis;  1  inooiivenieiiCBi  than 

at   present.      It  will    he   more   healthful,  as   well   as 

.  t.»    liv    in    a    better   house   and   a   lar 
]>y  the  time  the  now  homo  is  ready,  I  think  we  shall 
be  ready 

'•  Home  is  not  a  house,  is  it  '!"  asked  Willie. 

•,  my  son.      II<>in>    has,   to  us   Ann-ric 
;-er,    fuller   si^nilieation    than    a    mere    «lwellintLr- 
lioiis.-— a  shelter  from  the  weather.      We  eonsider  it 

t'u«re  from  the  ]  nd  eares  of  life  : 

wh-  :  surrounded  by  others,  who  are  bound 

to  us,  and  we  to  them,  by  the  ties  of  kindred  and 
affection;  where  the  objects  that  surround  us  are 
th">L'  with  which  we  are  pleasantly  familiar;  and 
with  whose  inmates  we  can  have  that  happy  free- 
dom, in  speaking  and  acting,  which  springs  from  a 
loving  heart  and  good  principles." 

"  I  remember  an  old  saying,"  said  llobert : — 
"Give  an  Indian  a  fire,  and  you  give  him  a  home!" 

"Yes,  that  is  true.  His  wants,  in  the  savage 
state,  are  but  few.  A  kind  of  stoical  pride  prevents 
him  from  exercising  any  domestic  virtues,  or  acknow- 


128  LIFE    IN    Till; 


lodging  that  his  happiness  d  ]  rnal 

comfort.   His  wife,  or  p<iuaw,  is  ackii"-.  >  an 

inferior,  and  agrees  to  it.     His  children  arc  of  little 
account  to  him;  and  to  be  warm   and  to  have  f 
are  all  that  he  cares  for.     Anywhere,  if  : 
furnished,  he  lias  his  //• 

"I  wonder  what  Patrick's   idea  <.f  a  hon. 
said  Mary. 

"  We  shall  soon  see,  for  our  first  duty  must  he  to 
have  a  house  furnished  for  him.  The  village  is  too 
far  from  us  for  them  to  stay  there  long/' 

"Shall  you  take  the  carpenters  from  th'-ir  work, 
upon  the  frame  of  our  house,  to  build  one  fur  him;'" 

"No,  Henry.     For  a  few  weeks,   Mr.  Ilinckley 
stays  to  superintend  the  farm;  and  there  is  little 
you  and  Robert  to  do.     I  intend  to  have  you  and 
Patrick  put  up  a  house  for  him ;  and  you  can  exer- 
cise your  skill  and  judgment  in  the  matter,  ;: 
you,  yourselves,   were  young,  poor  emigrants,  out 
here  alone,  and  upon  your  own  responsibility.     I 
will  stay  to  direct  about  affairs  here." 

"  First,  father,  let  us  put  up  a  passage-way  be- 
tween the  two  cabins,  so  that  we  can  pass  from  one 
to  the  other,  without  going  out  of  do< 

"  That  is  a  good  idea,  Robert ;  and  you  can  have 
some  of  the  rough  lumber  purchased  for  the  barn, 
•to  use." 

"  If  we  build  that,"  said  Henry,  "  why  not 
make  it  wide  enough  to  put  the  cooking-stove  in, 


Tin.  :.\. 


and    then,    in    th»»   ln»t    weather,    we    can    keep    this 
parlour '!" 

'•That  \vill  be  1   Mary.     «  It  will  be  so 

niudi  pleasanter  and  easier;   and    then,"  .-he  added, 
tun.  -an,  ".we  ean  pull  the  Oftl  that 

rough  hrarth,  that  \. 

-hall  like   the  aiTangem.-nt  very  much," 
31  r-  .nd  L  thank  you,  Il-.bcrt,  for  plan- 

ning it  fur  my  convenience  and  comfort." 

"Then  it  shall  be  done,  and  that   right  speedily; 
for  wbat  it  pleases  you  to  have,  mother,  it  pi 
me  to  d<>  1" 

"  That  is  tbe  true  home-spirit,  Robert/'  returned 
his  mother.      u  Without  that  feeling  on  the  pa; 
every  member  of  the  family,  there  is  little  lion. 
joy  in  the  doi  H  words  or  discon- 

tented h'  I;   up   the  pleasure  of  any  family 

for  the   time;    and   an    habitual  f.ir   the 

comfort  of   others,    ly    indulging    in   these    faults, 
will   destroy   fami!  .  anil    harmony;   whh 

spirit  of  disinteres*  ppiness  in  the 

heart  of  its  possessor,  even  while  di.-p«'ii.-ing  its  gi: 

"  Are  kind  actions  gii  1  Mary. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  they  are  truly  gifts,  and  more 
valuable  in  diffusing  happiness  than  the  most  costly 
presents.  Xo  actual  gift  could  give  me  so  much 
gratification  as  the  knowledge  that  your  brothers 
think  of  my  comfort,  and  are  willing  to  do  something 
to  promote  it." 

11* 


130  LIFE    IN    THE    WKST. 


"I  suppose  it  is  the  good-will  manifested  that 
always  makes  a  present  acceptable." 

"I  think  it  is,  even  to  tlm.-o  wh<  :TC  ac- 

tually supplied  by  such   gifts.     A  needy  or  poor 
person  will  Value  a  kind  word  or  svmpathi, 
which  accompanies  the  aid  bestowed,  quite  a>  much 
as  the  charity  itself,  and  will  gratefully  remember  it 
much  longer.     To  those  who  ar 
what  are   usually  called  presents,  th<Te    is   noth 
whieh  awakens  more  uncomfortable  feeling  than  an 
appearance  of  superiority." 

"We  can  all  bestow  beautiful  gifts  upon 
other,  then,  every  day,"    said  Annie.  ,  ing 

and  trying  to  help  one  another/' 

"And  when  we  get  acquainted,  we  can  give  such 
splendid  presents  to  eveiybody  about  us  !  Why, 
Frank,  you  did  not  tell  of  that  elegant  one  y»u  and 
Charles  made  to  the  old  woman  that  live-  by  the 
roadside,  between  us  and  Mrs.  IJluke's;  I  mean  the 
one  that  the  children  call  Aunt  llac-ht-l.'' 

"  To  tell  of  such  gifts  would  spoil  them.  Willie," 
answered  Frank. 

"Not  for  me  to  tell  of  yours;  would  it,  father? 
At  any  rate,  I  must  tell  of  this,  if  only  fur  the  sake 
of  the  compliment  the  old  woman  gave  you.  When 
we  were  coming  here,  yesterday,  we  saw  Aunt  Ea- 
chel,  out  in  front  of  the  house,  splitting  wood.  She 
was  at  work  on  a  green,  knotty  stick,  and  the  hatchet 
that  she  was  using  did  not  cut  very  well.  Frank 


A1MN. 


and   asked  II-T 
uldn't   like   to   have   him   el.  her. 

i   j-n-tty  - ' 

.  1  can  tell  you,  Mak- 

ing fan  .  '  i\v  that'  In-   Wpfl   in 

.   ;:li'l    ll-a:  Her 

little  grandson,  who  is  a'  M  in 

'•n.uight  out   an   ax  too 

r  her  to  i;  1,  in 

ha-1  h«-r  a  couple  «»f  annsful 

of  wood  cut,  which    tli  in,  and  j.ut  down 

on  tlie    heart  1..  ;         f\    know, 

v.hat  she  thought  al  I  to 

surprise  her;   I  iid,  (»nee  <«r  twice,  "Ah!  I 

ain't  p'-i^py-jiL  % 

31  r. 
had  won,  and  cnimiieiided  th.-  a;  tiun. 

"  I  am  glad  y,»u   had  it  in  y«'ur  ]m \vt-r   t.i  confer 
!1  favour;   f  »r  it  was  to  her,  no  doubt, 
a  favour.     By  this  one  litt!.-  j-ro- 

ba'  '  a  friend;   and,  if  she  sees  nothing  in 

you  hereafter  to  counteract  its  iniiui-nce,  ln-r  friend- 
is  yours  and  our's  for  life;  for,  in  the  public 
estimation,  we  are  i   u  a  family,  and,  for 

good  or  evil,  the  acts  of  each  will  affect  the  whole. 
I  have  seen  Aunt  llachel,  and  Mrs.  Blake  told  mo 
of  her,  as  our  nearest  neighbour.  God,  who  has 
liberally  bestowed  blessings  upon  us;  has  made  her 


132  LIFE    IX    THE    WEST. 


lot  to  differ  from  mir's.  She  i^  alone  and  poor. 
"With  that  little  grandson  eliniring  to  her,  as  lii.s 
only  friend,  she  has  laid  upon  her  the  heavy  burd-n 
of  her  past  bereavements  and  sorrows,  and  the  care 
of  his  and  her  own  support.  Perhaps  neither  you 
nor  I  can  otimate  the  value  to  her  of  a  kind  action 
or  word  ;  f<»r  we  know  nothing  of  tin-  discourage- 
ment and  anxiety  that  extreme  poverty  brings,  nor 
of  the  heart-.-inkings  that  must  come,  with  its  per- 
plexities, in  the  time  of  old  age  and  failing 
But  Frank  was  right  in  thinking  that  such  a<  ' 

•d  by  boasting  of  them — spoiled  in  the  sight 
of  God,   who  looks   upon  the   heart  and  j 

ives.      Our  little  Annie  might  have  seen  the  old 

trouble  with  the  wood,  and  not  have  1 
able  to  help  her,  as  your  brothers  did;  yet  the  de- 
sire to  do  >o  might  have  been  as  strong  and  as  : 
from   selfishness  as   their's ;   and    both  would   have 
pleased  God,  because  the   heart  was  right,  and  the 
spirit  such  as  Christ   manifested  in   his  intercourse 
•with  men. 

"  Let  the  heart,  then,  be  right ;  let  it  be  kept 
with  all  diligence ;  let  it  be  purified  from  selfishness 
by  the  inspiration  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  and  our  eyes 
will  be  opened  to  a  sense  of  others'  wants  and  de- 
sires :  then  good  actions  will  follow  naturally.  We 
all  know  where  and  how  to  seek  for  this  purification 
of  our  souls.  By  earnest  prayer  to  God  for  the  gift 
of  his  spirit,  and  as  earnest  effort  to  follow  its  guid- 


THE    L<><;-rADIX. 


133 


ance,  we  shall  not  fail  to  become  free  from  the  do- 
minion  of  selfishness  ;    f<>r   the  love  of  Jesus,  our 

lour,  is  pledged,  and  his  inteive>sii»n  j.roml- 
for  our  help  and  our  uid.  Our  nn-n  /*«/,-/*  nill  ih>t 
be  made  peaceful  and  happy  ;  then  our  /i''tu>  will  be 
bright,  through  the  manifestation  of  our  own  joy; 
and  the  circle  of  our  influence  will  he  extruded,  and 
those  who  observe  us  will  gradually  be  Ird  to  feel 
that  peace,  happiness,  and  prosperity  are  alone  to 
be  found  in  a  calm,  quiet,  but  steady  performance  of 
every  duty  towards  God  and  man,  whi!--  tin-  heart 
be,  for  comfort  and  support  in  this  life,  and  for 

•ition  in  that  which  is  to  come,  solely  upon  tho 
merits  of  a  crucified  Redeemer." 


134  LIFE   IN    THE   WEST. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
PATRICK'S  HOME. 

"  No,  Patrick !  Not  a  shanty !  I  don't  like  them; 
but  a  good  log-cabin,  such  as  becomes  the  country — 
built  as  well  and  as  substantially  as  we  can  do  it. 
That  is  my  idea  of  a  house  for  you;  and,  now, 
where  shall  it  be  ?" 

Thus  .said  Robert,  as  he,  with  Henry  and  Patrick, 
stood  together  in  the  woods,  with  their  working- 
frocks  on,  and  spades  over  their  shoulders.  Through 
the  land  that  31  r.  31  ore  ton  owned  there  was  running 
a  little  brook,  which,  though  in  the  summer  months 
it  dwindled  away  to  a  mere  tiny  streamlet,  yet,  after 
a  rain,  it  rapidly  filled,  and  ran  its  course  over  its 
pebbly  bed  merrily  enough.  Near  its  bank,  Patrick 
chose  to  have  his  residence,  and  there  they  decided 
it  should  be. 

The  first  thing  undertaken  was  the  digging  of  a 
cellar.  This,  to  Patrick,  seemed  totally  unneces- 
sary, for  "a  potato-heap"  was  as  good  as  any  cellar, 
in  his  estimation  \  but  neither  Robert  nor  Henry 
would  consent  to  such  an  arrangement,  Two 
days'  work,  and  the  cellar  was  dug;  another  day, 


PATRICK'S  HOME.  Io5 


and  it  was  logged  with  good  white-oak  logs,  so  that 
it  looked  tidy,  and  the  danger  of  its  sides  caving  in 

obviated.  Then  they  cut  forty  logs  of  the  same 
length ;  roughly  hewed  them  on  two  sides ;  stripped 
the  bark  from  them,  that  there  might  be  fewer  har- 
bours for  the  insects  and  bugs,  (which  are  often  so 
troublesome  in  a  new  country;)  notched  their  ends, 
and  piled  them  up,  one  above  another,  fitting  them 
at  the  corners,  until  they  formed  a  square  enclosure j 
ten  feet  high.  Then  a  ride  to  a  neighbouring  swamp 
and  a  day's  work  were  i  .to  get  some  tama- 

rac  poles,  to  lay  across  as  supporters  f.»r  the  chamber- 
floor.  Two  more  logs  gave  the  r<  «jui  it  to 
the  back  and  front  of  the  building.  Tam 
were  joined  together  in  the  middle,  and,  with  a 
gentle  slope,  met  opposite  corners  of  the  building, 
leaving  the  height  of  the  centre  of  the  room  nearly 
eiiiht  feet,  The  gable  ends  were  boarded  in  with 
split  stuff,  leaving  a  window  on  each  >ide.  Split 
clapboards  were  laid  on  th  .  their  lower 

•s  overlapping  each  other.  Tlu-e,  at  regular  in- 
tervals, were  fastened  by  slender  tamara»-  j..,lcs  laid 
across,  and  nailed  at  the  ends,  forming  what  is  called 
a  "  shaky  roof" 

»door  was  cut  in  the  centre  of  the  front  side  of 
cabin,  and  another,  just  opposite  to  it,  on  the 
back.  Two  windows  were  made,  having  each 
twelve  lights.  The  floor  was  of  sawed  lumber,  laid 
on  hewn  sleepers,  with  a  trap-door  in  one  corner,  to 


136  LIFE    IX    THE    \VEST. 


go  into  the  cellar,  and  a  ladder,  or  steps,  to  the  loft 
above,  near  it.  The  establishment  began  now  to  look 
quite  like  a  house;  but  it  was  not  yet  done.  T; 
was  still  the  clihilcuuj,  or  filling  up  of  the  openings 
between  the  logs,  (which  must  necessarily  be  left, 
because  of  their  irregularities,)  with  bits  of  split 
stuff,  or  chips,  or  small  rails,  and  then  covering  it 
smoothly  over  with  clay-mortar.  r  task  f«>r 

them  was  to  build  a  chimney.  This  was  to  be  made  on 
the  outside  of  the  house ;  and,  as  they  had  but  little 
stone,  and  bricks  wrere  expensive,  they  were  obliged 
to  make  it  of  logs,  covered  with  thick  coatings  of 
clay.     A  frame,  the  size  of  the  fire-; 
was   made  of  boards;    another    frame,    ti 
shape,  but  smaller  in  porarily    G 

within  it,  leaving  a  space  1-  the  two.     ] 

was  filled  with  moist  clay  and  nidi  bits  of  stone  or 
brick  as  they  could  gather  t  ..htly 

down, and  forming  one  solid,  compact  m  -u-th 

of  the  same  material,  and  the  ends  of  the  cut 
well  plastered  over,  made  this,  when  dry,  a  Baft  an  I 
neat-looking  fire-place.     Above,  out  of  the  reach  of 
the  fire,  the  chimney  was  of  sticks  covered  with  clay. 
A   little    shanty   was    built   over  ^the    back-door, 
with  a  shelf,  and  a  piece  of  plank  fastened  ugauut 
the  side  of  the  house,  to  answer  &~4* 
finished  the  work  of  the  young  9tm";  and  it  was 
with  no  little  pleasure  that  they  viewed  it.     Count- 
ing their  own  labour  as  nothing,  it  had  cost  them 


HOME.  ^7 

but  little.  The  logs  were  taken  from  a  field  which 
31  r.  llinckley  had  begun  to  clear.  The  digging, 
splitting,  and  >awing  they  themselves  had  accom- 
plished. With  some  aid  in  drawing  and  raising  the 
logs,  and  some  little  expense  for  nails,  window- 
franie>,  and  i_rla-s  and  the  lumber  for  the  floors,  it 
was  the  work  of  their  own  hands — the  creation  of 
their  own  industry;  and  no  workmen  on  a  myal  pa- 
;•  more  delighted  than  they  with  their 

1688. 

Whine's    admiration  equalled  their's,  and  fully 
ivpaid  ihrin  f..r    their    labour.      It  is  true   that   the 
poor  woman    had   little   or  nothing  to  put  in   the 
hniiM.',  save    her    hu.-band    and    ehildn-n  ;    ;, 
afortable  feeling  a— oriuted  with  th 
a  habitation  nf   In  r  own;   and  it  seemed  t<»  giT6    h-T 
new  life  and  •  the  change  that  a  little 

encouragement   and  a  few  words  of  kindness  had 
wrought  upon   her  husband.      When    Mr.  M«»reton 
came  to  see  them,  after  they 
he   found    Tatriek   and   Winne,  with    the   children, 

ed  outside  of  the  door,  apparently  as  hap]-;. 

•hly  prosperity  can  make  mortals — cnntented  to 
work,  if  work  could  be  provided,  but  with  no  thrift 
ttor  judgment,  either  in  seeking  labour,  or  making  the 
bodily  vigour  and  strength  they  possessed  available 
for  their  own  comfort. 

And  thus  it  is  with  many  a  poor  foreigner,  whose 

wants  have  driven  him  into  this  Western  world, 
12 


138  LIFE    IN    THE    WEST. 


whose  means  are  all  consumed  in  the  mere  ycttiny 
there,  and  whose  want  of  education  and  habits  of  life 
have  totally  unfitted  him  to  act  for  himself.  Alas  ! 
that  even  his  religion,  superstitious  and  cruel  to  his 
own  soul,  should,  in  so  many  instances,  have  been  u<e<  1 
further  to  degrade  the  man;  and,  instead  of  exalting 
and  purifying  the  spirit,  should  have  been,  in  the  hands 
of  a  crafty  priesthood,  subservient  only  to  the  deepen- 
ing and  darkening  of  the  benighted,  sinful  heart,  and 
to  the  stupifying  of  every  sensibility,  so  that  he  can 
be  led,  like  a  beast,  hither  and  thither,  at  the  will  of 
those  who  stand  between  God  and  his  soul ! 

How  easily  such  can  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
wicked  and  designing,  it  is  not  difficult  to  see.  But, 
thanks  be  to  God  !  better  influences  may  also  be  suc- 
cessfully exerted  upon  them.  A  well-disposed,  honest, 
benevolent  employer;  one  who  gi  .  net  cha- 

rity; who,  by  a  timely  word,  encourages  habits  of 
industry,  and  gradually  lays  the  foundation  for  in- 
crease of  knowledge  and  the  growth  of  good  principle; 
and  who,  by  his  example,  is  constantly  making  known 
the  benefits  of  well-directed  labour,  integrity,  and  up- 
rightness,— such  a  man  is  doing  a  mis-ion  a  ry  work  : 
a  work  in  which  the  hearts  of  all  lovers  of  their  coun- 
try must  bid  him  God-speed;  a  work  which  is  laying 
deep  and  sure  the  foundations  of  national  prosperity. 
And  his  influence  is  felt,  not  only  over  the  few  with 
whom  he  personally  comes  in  contact,  but  over  all 
who  are  witnesses  of  the  rapid  and  sure  improve- 


PATRICK'S  HOME.  139 


mcnts  that  usually  follow  his  endeavours  to  do  good 

11  opportunity. 

Nor  is   "  the   bread  thus  cast  upon  the  waters'' 
never    found.      In    a   country   where   progress    is 
speedy,  where  change  follows  change  in  quick  suc- 
tion, tlie    "many   days"  dwindle  to  a  few;   and 
Ir.  Moreton  begun,  not  only  to  feel  re- 
i  for  his  trouble  and  the  risk  he  had  run  in  en- 
:iploy  one  who  seemed  so  ignorant,  so 
poor,  and  so  needy,  but  he  was  also  receiving  the 
lii>t  fruits  of  the  promise,  "He  that  watereth,  shall 
be  watered  also  him>elf,"  in  the  earnest  and  success- 
ful <  n  of  Patrick  and  Winne  to  make  them- 
selves  useful  ;  and  to  please  their 
benefactors. 

Though  their  first  object  was,  now,  to  testify  their 
gratitude,  yet,  under  its  influence,  there  were  spring- 
ing up  pleasant  manife.-tati'iiis  of  neatness  and  >tea<ly 
application.   They  began  to  think  more  of  each  oti. 
comfort,  and  to  feel  as  if  their  children  were  of  u, 

A  praiM-wm-thy  ambition  was  aroused, 
and  they  were  willing  to  seek  for  information  and 
advice  from  those  who  had  proved  themselves  friendly. 
Pan-irk  was  bound  by  no  promise  to  Mr.  Moreton; 
nor  was  Mr.  Moreton  obliged  to  retain  him  longer 
than  he  was  willing  to  work.  The  rent  of  his 
house  and  his  family's  support  from  the  farm  were 
his  wages  for  the  first  year,  with  the  understanding 
that  either  the  house  or  its  worth  in  money  should 


140  LIFE    IN    TUP:    WEST. 


be  given  him  at  its  close,  if  he  was  faithful  to  his 
employer.  After  that,  he  was  to  be  paid,  with  a 
regular  yearly  increase  of  wages,  in  such  way  as 
they  might,  at  the  time,  agree  upon.  But  it  was 
not  in  wages  alone  that  Mr.  Moreton's  family  helped 
Patrick  McConey.  Susan  showed  Winne  how  to  fit 
neat  dresses  for  herself  and  the  children,  and,  out, of 
her  own  wardrobe,  helped  their  deficiencies.  Mary's 
voice  directed  about  the  scanty  furniture  of  the 
bin,  showing  how  it  could  be  cleansed  and  made 
more  available  for  comfort.  It  was  Robert  who 
helped  put  the  fence  in  order  in  front  of  the  house, 
and  who  promised  little  Pat  a  penny  a  week  to  keep 
the  pigs  out  of  the  yard.  It  was  Henry  who  sold 
the  old  horses  and  wagon,  and  somehow  made  the 
money  received  for  them  go  far  enough  to  buy  a 
cow  and  two  young  steers,  that,  in  a  few  y« 
would  be  of  great  value  to  Patrick.  It  was  Annie 
that  would  look  after  the  toddling  little  ,,ne,  when 
AVinne  came  to  the  house  to  work,  and  Annie  who 
taught  it  and  little  Patrick  their  letters  from  one  of 
her  own  story-books;  while  Mrs.  M«>ivt«ni  patiently 
drilled  the  mother  in  the  best  way  of  doing  house- 
work, and  taught  her  how  to  prepare  food — accom- 
plishments in  which,  like  too  many  of  her  country- 
women, she  was  strangely  deficient. 

Thus  it  was  that  they  sought  to  insure  their  con- 
fidence and  gain  their  respect,  hoping  that,  these  be- 
ing secured,  they  might  be  instrumental  in  leading 


ME.  141 


them  in  the  way  of  life;  and  that,  while  they 
trusted  them  as  friends  who  were  solicitous  for 
their  earthly  welfare,  they  would  also  learn  to  view 
with  favour  any  efforts  which,  in  the  days  to  come, 
they  might  make  f..r  the!:  .1  c«. nversi.ui. 

Ignorance  and  superstition  have  ever  gone  hand  in 
hand,  and  he  is  wi.-e  who  seeks  Almighty  aid  be- 
fore attacking  its  strongholds  in  the  heart  of  one 
who  ha-  been  trained  i;i  the  i  ';.  l>aily 

were  these  benighted  on- s  r-  I  before  (I 

as  the  Morcton  family  a— t  uibled  for  •  \vor- 

shij  .  and  wisdom  v>\ 

.at   tliey  i  :,  of  them   so   live  I 

recommend  the  religion  of  ,K'.-ns,  the  religion  of  the 
J3>J)le.  around  them. 


12* 


142  LIFE    IX    THE    WEST. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

NEIGHBOURS. 

IN  this  century  of  the  world,  and  in  our  own  be- 
loved country,  it  is  difficult  to  find,  and  more  difficult 
to  retain,  a  home  without  neighbours.  Yerv  few  are 
there  to  whom  companionship  and  social  intercourse 
are  undesirable.  Man  is  (as  has  been  often  said) 
"a  gregarious  animal,"  drawn  to  his  fellow-man  by 
ties  of  sympathy  and  interest.  lie  needs  1 
ance — he  craves  his  friendship.  A  life  of  seclusion 
has  few  charms  for  a  healthy,  vigorous  mind  :  it  has 
no  attractions  for  a  man  who  is  intent  on  bettering 
his  condition,  and  on  rising  in  the  world.  Thus  we 
see,  in  the  great  AVest,  that  a  farm  near  a  settlement 
is  always  sought  for.  If  that  settlement  is  likely  to 
increase  and  become  of  importance,  so  much  the 
better.  As  farmers,  men  are  there  neeessarily 
scattered  and  hidden  from  the  sight  of  travellers,,  as 
well  as  from  each  other;  but  an  elect  ion-day,  a 
court-week,  or  a  Fourth-of-July  celebration  will 
draw  together,  in  any  county,  many  men,  women, 
and  children,  who,  living  a  little  on  one  side  or  the 
other  of  the  highway,  are  seldom  seen;  save  on  such 


BBOTTR8.  14  J 


occasions.  It  was  the  number  drawn  together  by 
the  return  of  our  national  holiday,  that  first  gave 
our  friends  any  idea  of  those  by  whom  they  were 
surrounded.  Without  any  arrangement  for  their 
entertainment,  there  was  a  general  fivling  among 
the  people  that  it  should  be  a  day  of  recreation,  ;md 
•sort  to  the  village  was  as  natural  as  it  was  cer- 
tain. Here  they  loitered  about,  lingering  at  the 
tavern,  strolling  up  and  down,  chatting  with  each 
other,  until  a  party  of  young  people  arriving,  who 
had  a  violin-player  with  them,  they  had  a  dance  in 
the  ci'"rf-/t"n.wl  The  grocery-store  was  a  place  of 
attraction  to  the  men;  and  Mr.  Blake's  bar-room 
had  many  in  it,  who  went  away  less  sober  than  they 
came.  But  there  was  no  quarrelling.  What  of 
evil  appeared  was  from  want  of  something  good  or 
useful  to  do ;  and  Mr.  Moreton's  eye  was  quick  to 
discern  this,  and  his  heart  as  qui<  !ve  that 

another  year,  if  life  and  health  «  vd  him, 

it  should  be  otherwise,  and  that  they  who  came  to- 
gether should,  at  least,  have  the  choice  between  evil 
and  good. 

But,  this  time,  he  could  do  little  but  obtain  an 
introduction  to  some  of  the  people;  and  then,  going 
home,  he,  with  his  family,  sought  r  place  in 

the  adjoining  woods,  and  played  gipsy-life,  by  boiling 
their  tea-kettle  and  spreading  their  table  beneath 
the  green  trees;  while  Charles,  Willie,  and  Alice 
wandered  off,  and  soon  brought  back  a  plentiful  sup- 


144  LIFE    IN    THE    WEST. 


ply  of  field-strawberries.  Before  they  partook  of 
their  repast,  they  were  all  crowned  with  garlands  of 
bright  flowers,  made  by  Mary's  skilful  hands,  and 
fantastic  wreaths  were  about  the  shoulders  of  the 
little  girls;  while  Frank,  with  a  huge  bouquet  in 
his  button-hole,  made  an  extempore  address  on 
Liberty;  and,  joining  hands,  they  all,  with  great 
energy  and  zeal,  sang  "Hail  Columbia"  to  their 
mother,  wlio  was  their  only  auditor,  and  who  after- 
wards returned  her  thanks  for  the  great  honour 
they  had  done  her,  and  invited  them,  one  and  all, 
to  partake  of  the  feast  spread  for  them.  ]>< 
they  were  through,  who  should  come  but  Patrick 
and  Winne,  who  had  heard  the  voices,  and  were 
drawn  towards  them  by  their  desire  both  to  see 
what  was  going  on  and  to  help,  if  they  could ;  and 
they  were  just  in  time  to  have  their  share  of  the 
supper,  and  to  gather  up  for  them  the  things  brought 
from  the  house. 

Thus  passed  their  first  Independence-day  in  In- 
diana. But  it  was  not  of  this  we  designed  only  to 
tell.  Their  pleasures,  this  day,  had  been  shared  by 
none  but  themselves,  but  thus  they  did  not  desire 
that  it  should  always  be. 

Their  immediate  neighbours  on  one  side  were  few, 
for  their  farm  was  a  large  one ;  but  between  them 
and  the  village  there  were  several  families,  and  the 
village  people  themselves  were  not  far  away.  For 
the  first  few  weeks;  all  advances  made  towards  ac- 


NKKJHKOURS.  145 


re  on  their  part.  They  showed  them- 
selves to  be  friendly,  by  a  pleasant  recognition  of 
those  whom  they  had  ever  met,  and  by  a  manifest 
desire  to  extend  their  knowledge  of  those  around 
them  ;  and,  in  due  time,  this  course  had  the  effect 
to  draw  out  the  good  feeling  and  hospitality  of 
r.th. -r.<.  Airs.  Blake,  the  landlady  of  the  village- 
inn,  has  already  been  introduced  to  our  readers; 
but  we  may  here  speak  of  her  steady,  constant 
friendliness,  and  of  that  value  and  esteem  that  grew 
:iey  knew  her  better.  IK  r  husband  was  an  in- 
temperate man,  idle  in  his  habits,  and  little  to  be 
depended  on;  but  she,  with  energy  and  self-denial, 
laboured  on,  hoping  almost  against  hope  for  him,  and 
doing  what  she  could  to  remedy  the  evils  of  his  ex- 
ample upon  his  children.  Her's  was  no  easy  life. 
To  maintain  the  reputation  of  their  house,  (upon 
which  their  support  depended,)  to  restrain  and  guide 
the  restless  minds  of  her  children,  and,  with  inge- 
nuity and  ceaseless  care>  to  watch  over  her  husband's 
course,  oftentimes  preventing  those  drunk. -n  carou- 
sals which  he  called  frolic*, — this  was  her  task,  and 
who  shall  say  that  it  was  easy,  or  the  burden  light  ? 
Directly  across  the  street  from  her,  lived  a  lawyer 
— ll ' Sytiii-r  Thomas,"  as  he  was  styled — a  man  of 
talents  and  well  educated;  but  d  with  his 

home  in  the  West.  His  property  had  become  so 
involved  with  the  place  in  which  he  lived,  that  he 
could  not,  without  sacrifice,  leave  Lakeland.  He 


146  LIFE   IX    THE   TV'EST. 


had  health,  a  good  profession,  and  was  steadily  ac- 
quiring riches ;  but  the  poison  of  discontent  mingled 
with  his  cup  of  mercies,  and  he  knew  not  that  that 
poison  was  placed  there  by  his  own  hand,  that  its 
fountain  was  in  his  own  heart,  and  that,  go  whither 
he  would,  the  stream  would  still  flow.  Mrs.  Thomas 
scarcely  knew  her  neighbours,  and  her  children  as- 
sociated but  little  with  others  of  their  age ;  while 
the  reputation  of  the  whole  family  was  that  of 
proud,  overbearing  people,  who  felt  as  if  they  were 
of  more  consequence  than  their  neighbours. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stetson  were  plain,  straight-forward, 
honest,  industrious  people,  originally  from  Peni; 
vania,  but  residents  of  Lakeland  since  it  became  a 
town.     They  began  with  only  a  small  capital ;  but, 
as  a  merchant  or  trader,  he   had 
able  competency.     There  vras   Mr.  Trufant,  another 
merchant,  and    Mr.  Jilaek,    still    another — buth  of 
whom   had  families,   and   were   ]  in   their 

worldly  concerns.  There  was  l>r.  Mason,  a  man  of 
limited  education,  but  of  strong  good  sense — kind- 
hearted,  and  in  earnest  to  relieve  suffering;  and 
Mrs.  Mason,  who  warmly  seconded  his  endeavours 
to  make  both  sick  people  well  and  well  people 
happy.  There  was  Mr.  John  Dudley,  a  young  law- 
yer, who  boarded  with  Mrs.  Blake — a  man  of  edu- 
cation and  intelligence,  seeking  his  fortune  far 
away  from  his  home.  There  was  Mr.  Stabler,  a 
German  house-builder,  who  called  his  workmen  from 


147 


their  employment,  when  dinner  was  read}',  with  the 
sweetest  notes  upon  a  French  horn.  There  was  the 
little  German  shoemaker,  whose  wife  was  a  native 
of  the  State,  and  who  counted  the  ages  of  her  chil- 
dren by  the  running  of  the  sap  of  the  sugar-maple, 
saying  that  little  "Dora  was  nine  years  old,  last 
run,  and  Herman  would  be  three,  come  the 
next."  There  was  Mr.  Klagden,  the  school-teacher 
for  the  time,  but  intending  soon  to  return  to  his 
farm,  which  he  had  left  only  on  account  of  ill 
health.  There  was  Aunt  Rachel,  of  whi»m  w  have 
\en  before;  and,  ju.-t  beyond  her,  a  French 
family  lived,  miserably  poor  an-i 
were  but  a  part  of  the  neighbours  by  whom  31  r. 
M oreton's  family  was  surrounded,  but  sufficient  to 
A-  the  variety  of  life  that  they  would  meet  with. 
Among  them  all,  there  were,  doubtless,  those 
whom  they  should  learn  to  love  and  respect,  and  the 
disposition  to  do  so  was  not  wanting  in  our  friends. 
That  some  of  the  homes  of  these  j  n. -itlu-r 

neat  nor  tidy,  and  that,  in  most  of  them,  tln-iv  was 
evident  little  ambition  to  Inn  ///.<///// 1,. 

is  true.  One  or  two  rooms  were  made  to  accommo- 
date a  whole  family;  but,  living  in  the  same  way 
themselves,  neither  Mr.  nor  Mrs.  Moreton  could  find 
fault  with  it.  One  thing  they  did  observe  and  no- 
tice, viz.  that  there  was  lacking  neither  capabilities 
nor  the  ambition  to  improve ;  but  that,  beneath  the 
cumbrous  load  of  labour  and  care  thrown  upon  them, 


148  LIFE    IN    THE    WEST. 


the  people  were  seen  to  great  disadvantage;  and 
that,  year  by  year,  the  increased  advantages  of  their 
condition  and  the  possession  of  conveniences  for 
performing  labour,  would  give  them  more  freedom 
from  fatigue,  and  leisure  to  develop  those  tastes, 
which  were  not  dead,  but  hidden  by  the  necessity 
that  now  existed  to  supply  actual  physical  wants. 

"There  is  nothing  here  to  discourage  us," 
Mrs.  Moreton,  "or  to  disappoint  our  expectations  in 
regard  to  social  intercourse  with  those  about  us. 
Neither  for  ourselves  nor  our  children  need  we  IV-ar 
that  we  shall  be  lonely,  or  without  the  advantages 
of  others'  friendship.  If  we  hear  of  village  factions 
and  quarrels,  they  need  not  be  our's;  and,  if  home- 
is  pleasant  to  the  boys,  they  will  hardly  run  to  the 
grocery  or  ball-room  for  soci- 

"I  own  that  1  have  sonir  t'«-arsthat  the  monotony 
of  life  may  be  tedious  to  Koli-Tt  and  Henry,  and  that 
Mary,  with  her  fastidion  many  th' 

to  disgust  her  with  so  rude  a  life  as  that  al»out 
said  Mr.  Moreton. 

"  I  have  little  fear  for  our  sons,  until  the  house 
and  farm  are  in  good  order.  Employment,  full 
employment,  is  the  best  safeguard  against  the  evil 
tendency  of  youthful  restlessness;  and  work  is 
abundant  with  us  now,  and  will  be  for  two  years  to 
come.  Beside,  under  the  influence  of  Christian 
principle,  as  we  hope  they  are,  they  are  learning  to 
look  upon  those  about  them  as  creatures  of  God, 


NEIGHBOT  149 


whom,  on  no  account,  may  they  neglect  or  despise. 
Will  not  this  keep  them  from  being  weary  of  their 
daily  life  ?" 

"But  Mary  and  you?  Will  you  be  satisfied 
here  ?" 

"  Do  not  fear  for  us.  Susan  supplies  the  need  of 
a  companion  to  both  of  us,  and  she  is  happy  always. 
Mary  came  with  an  aggravated  idea  of  the  loneli- 
ness and  misery  she  might  find  here.  It  was,  to  her, 
like  leaving  a  paradise  for  a  desert.  Every  thing  is 
far  better  and  more  agreeable  than  she  looked  for, 
and  the  reaction  is  favourable  for  her.  So  far,  she 
is  perfectly  satisfied — more  than  that, — pleased  with 
the  change.  For  myself,  I  need  nothing  more  for 
my  happiness  than  to  see  you  all  happy.  A  wife 
and  a  mother  need  look  no  farther  than  her  own 
fireside  for  society ;  yet  there  are  resources  open  for 
me  beyond  this.  Already  instances  of  good  it  i-linis 
of  amiability,  and  of  native  refinement  have  come 
under  my  notice  among  our  acquaintances  here.  I 
have  seen  energy  and  hope  exhibited,  and  powers 
of  self-denial  and  endurance  manifested,  which  have 
compelled  my  admiration,  even  while  I  owned  that 
I  was  not  equal  to  them." 

"  It  was  my  strong  desire  for  your  happiness  that 
has  made  me  anxious/'  replied  Mr.  Moreton.  "I 
am  neither  discouraged  nor  disheartened  myself;  but 
I  feared  for  you." 

"  Then  fear  no  longer,  I  beg  of  you.     ( The  good 

13 


150  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


time  coming'  will  be  as  powerful  a  motive  with  us 
as  with  our  neighbours ;  and  I  am  thankful  that  we 
are  here  now,  when  Lakeland  is  in  its  transition- 
state.  A  few  years  more,  and  our  influence  would 
have  been  lost,  for  its  character  will  then  be  fixed. 
As  There  is 

*  A  tide  in  the  affairs  of  men, 

"Which,  taken  at  the  flood,  leads  on  to  fortune,' 

so  there  is  with  places  and  towns.  Now  is  the  time 
to  work  for  Lakeland,  and  now  is  the  time  that  work- 
ing will  do  us  good — prove  our  patience1,  a\vak<-u  our 
powers  of  judgment,  and  impress  upon  our  children 
a  sense  of  responsibility  to  man  and  God." 

"You  are  right  in  your  judgment ;  and,  if  it  is 
blessed  to  be  permitted  to  labour,  how  thankful 
should  we  be  for  the  gracious  gospel,  in  which  is 
our  only  sure  hope  of  success!  Never,  until  I  came 
here,  have  I  realized  its  full  tendency  to  reform  and 
elevate  society,  or  the  ennobling  influence  of  a  cor- 
dial belief  in  Christianity.  To  each  individual,  the 
message  it  brings  is  one  of  love.  It  tells  him  that, 
as  the  possessor  of  an  immortal  soul,  he  is  of  the 
highest  importance ;  that,  for  that  soul,  Christ  died 
— for  its  salvation  he  now  intercedes.  Why  should 
he  despise  himself,  or  debase  the  spirit  for  which 
God  cares  ?  Why  should  he  despair,  when  eternal 
life  is  offered  on  terms  so  simple — so  sure  ?  How 
can  he  be  thoughtless,  when  his  way  is  watched  by 
Jesus  himself,  and  that  with  eyes  of  divine  love  ? 


NEIGHBOURS.  151 


How  can  he  be  careless  of  his  words  or  actions, 
when  he  realizes  that  they  are  to  influence  his  eter- 
nal state  ?  Only  once  impress  upon  his  mind  the 
great  truth  of  his  immortality,  and  fix  it  there,  with 
the  knowledge  of  Jesus  as  his  Saviour,  and  personal 
thought,  personal  responsibility,  personal  hope,  and 
personal  effort  will  be  aroused.  Oh  !  the  blessed 
gospel  of  Christ,  that  can  awaken  attention,  that 
can  sustain  under  trying  effort,  that  can  comfort  in 
tribulation  and  sorrow,  and  assure  of  ultimate  suc- 

aud  eternal  salvation  ! 

"  Under  its  influence,  how  small  appear  tho  out- 
ward circumstances  with  which  a  gracious  God  has 
I  fit  to  invest  each  soul !  I  hope  that  wo  shall 
all  be  enabled  to  see  this,  and  that  the  valur  of  each 
immortal  spirit  will  be  manifest  to  us.  W-- 
help  it  in  its  struggle,  we  may  guide  it  in  its  cii 
we  may  win  its  confidence;  our  example  may  be  a 
co-worker  with  the  spirit  of  God ;  our  words  may  fix 
or  dissipate  serious  impressions ;  our  actions  may 
lead  into  temptation.  Together  made  in  tho  image 
of  God — together  sinners  in  his  sight — together  we 
niay  be  heirs  of  a  blessed  immortality  !  With  what 
a  vast  interest  does  this  thought  invest  our  own  per- 
sonal effort — our  every-day  intercourse  with  our 
neighbours !  May  God  grant  us  the  desire  and 
the  strength  to  be  faithful  I" 


152  LIFE   IN    THE   WEST. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THOMAS    REVERE. 

IT  was  under  the  influence  of  sentiments  such  as 
those  expressed  in  the  last  chapter,  that  Mr.  Moreton 
looked  around  him  for  opportunities  to  do  good.  To 
combat  existing  plans  of  operation  was  not,  in  his 
opinion,  wise  or  desirable.  He  deemed  it  better  to 
fall  in  with  those  already  in  progress,  and  help  in 
the  carrying  out  of  schemes  that  had  been  arranged 
by  others,  whose  longer  residence  in  the  country, 
and  greater  knowledge  of  the  prevailing  modes  of 
thought  and  action,  made  them  better  judges  of 
what  was  likely  to  be  successful.  When  fairly 
initiated  himself,  he  could  propose  changes,  if  he 
then  thought  such  changes  would  add  any  value  to 
projects  already  started,  or  invest  them  with  increased 
attractions.  Nor  was  he  willing  to  awaken  envy  or  ill- 
will,  or  to  excite  comment,  by  assuming  any  promi- 
nent place  in  the  community,  without  it  was  sure  to 
add  to  his  usefulness. 

The  Sabbath,  as  a  day  of  worship,  must  have  its 
due  observance  by  his  family,  or  they  would  not  be 
satisfied.  There  was  no  church,  no  religious  ser- 


THOMAS    UKYl.Ui:. 


a-iing  of  the  people  for   prayer  and 
praise,  the   Sabbath  after  their  arrival.     AVhy 

Had  ?dr.  Moreton  forgotten  it,  when  deciding 
upon  Lakeland  as  a  residence,  or  had  he  deemed  it 
a ry  consideration?     Neither.     At  the  time 
he    purchased    his    farm,   there    was   a   missionary 
labouring  there,  and  a  little  church  of  seven  mem- 
-   hud  gathered   thems-lves  under  his   ministra- 
tions.    It  was  with  great  regret  that  our  frii 
found,  <>n   their  arrival,  that  he  had  left  the  little 
flock,  discouraged  and  disheartened  himself,  because 
he  )    little    progress,  and    had 

the  little    baud  of   Christians    hardly  less   de- 
1  than  he   himself.      The  variety 
of  denominational  feeling  had  prevented  unity  of 
whose  feelings  were  iu  harmony 
had  been  too  poor  to  build  a  church  or  support  a 
minister.       A  Sabbath-school   had  been  organized, 
and  was  again  re-opened  with  the  returning  spri 
but  it  was  feebly  sustained,  for  want  of  interest  in 
the  people. 

To  become  members  of  this,  in  whatever  capacity 
they  might,  was  the  determination  of  our  friends; 
and,  accordingly,  the  first  Sabbath  after  their  arrival, 
31  r.  3Ioreton,  with  all  his  children,  were  there. 

It  was  held  at  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and 

their  party  was  too  large  to  escape  notice,  as  they 

rod  the  room  and  found   their  seats.     A  Mr. 

Johnson  was  the  superintendent,  and  the  cordial — 

13* 


154  LIFE    IN    THE    WEST. 


"  I  am  glad  to  see  you  1"  with  which  he  welcomed 
them,  was  from  the  heart.  He  soon  placed  Susan 
with  a  little  class  about  her,  Annie  and  Alice 
among  the  number.  Mary  found  a  seat  among  the 
older  girls  under  Mrs.  Stetson's  care,  but  they  w- 
with  one  exception,  much  younger  than  herself. 
Robert  and  Henry  entered  themselves,  as  the  nucleus 
about  which  a  Bible-class  might  gather,  under  the 
instructions  of  their  father;  and  right  glad  v. 
they,  when  John  Dudley,  the  young  lawyer,  having 
seen  them  go  into  the  school-house,  followed  and 
took  his  place  by  them.  Places  for  the  younger 
lads  were  found,  which  suited  them;  and  such  an 
accession  to  their  numbers  and  strength  could  not 
fail  to  give  new  life  and  vigour  to  the  whole  school. 
At  the  commencement  of  the  school,  Mr.  Moreton 
was  requested  to  offer  prayer;  aud  when  the  simple 
hymn  was  read,  and,  in  uncertain,  faint,  and  tremu- 
lous tones,  the  children  began  to  sing,  Mary's  sweet, 
clear  voice,  accustomed  to  guiding  the  notes  of 
younger  and  feebler  voices,  joined  with  them, 
giving  character  and  correctness  to  the  harmony. 

As  Robert  lingered  at  the  close  of  the  school, 
waiting  for  his  father's  company  home,  Mr.  John- 
son expressed  the  hope  that  they  might  be  able  to 
give  him  a  class  soon. 

"I  would  rather  stay  where  I  am,"  was  Robert's 
reply.  "  I  am  not  too  old  to  be  a  learner ;  and  we 
may  be  able  ta  gather  a  Bible-class  together/' 


THOMAS    UKVKRE.  155 


That  foolish  pride  that  makes  one  ashamed  to  ac- 
knowledge his  best  feelings,  and  leads  to  the  con- 
cealment of  his  purest  affections  and  most  valuable 
impulse's,  had  no  place  in  Hubert's  mind.  His  was 
true  independence  of  heart — true  manliness.  lie 
loved  his  home — he  loved  his  family  circle.  The 
i-aints  that  parental  watchfulness  imposed,  he 
felt  to  be  safeguards  to  his  prosperity  ;  and  would 
on  no  account  have  shaken  them  off  as  impediments 
in  the  path  of  pleasure.  Nor  did  the  spirit  of  world- 
^s  or  vanity  prevent  his  making  the  interests  of 
his  home  his  objects  of  attraction,  or  the  fear  of 
criticism  or  ill-natured  remark  hinder  his  associating 
with  those  who  were  younger  or  more  ignorant  than 
himself. 

Straight-forward  and  with  honesty  of  purpose,  he 
pursued  his  way,  seeking  no  distinction  and  asking 
for  no  notoriety  •  yet,  when  called  upon  by  circum- 
stances, he  could  openly  defend  the  right,  and,  with 
what  ability  he  possessed,  maintain  his  cause.  They 
had  been  in  Lakeland  several  months,  when,  one 
evening,  Robert  went  to  the  village  grocery -store  to 
procure  some  family  necessary,  and  found  himself 
thrown  into  a  new,  and,  to  him,  strange  scene. 

Drunkenness  still  prevails  too  widely  over  our 
fair  land,  and,  year  by  year,  lays  low  the  fortunes 
and  prospects  of  many,  to  whom  life  opened  with 
the  brightest  expectations  and  the  highest  hopes. 

Such  could  be  found  in  Lakeland.     Among  others, 


156  LIFE    IX    THE 


there  was  one,  scarcely  thirty  years  of  age,  who,  by 
great  and  continued  indulgence,  had  earned  for  him- 
self the  nickname  of  "  Whisky  Tom/'  He  \\ 
native  of  New  England.  His  i-arly  life  or  family 
friends  were  unknown  to  the  Lakflan-1  people.  It 
was  evident  that  he  had  received  a  complete  colle- 
giate education,  and  equally  evident  that  his  dissi- 
pated habits  had  rendered  that  education  of  no  avail 
to  him.  He  came  to  the  West  with  money  to  pur- 
chase a  small  farm,  and  to  build  upon  it  a  frame- 
house.  This  farm  lay  some  miles  out  of  the  village, 
and  was  rented  to  a  family,  with  whom  he  iv-ided, 
and  who  were  his  assistants  about  the  farm.  At 
first,  he  pursued  his  business  diligently,  and  Thomas 
Revere  was  known  only  as  a  moderate  drink  / .  An 
occasional  glass  at  the  tavern  or  grocery  counter,  a 
drink  with  a  friend,  orata  raising  or  hu.-'  yed 

no  strong  habits  of  intemperance ;  but,  soon,  longer 
tarryiugs  where  it  could  be  found  and  nmiv  fiv^uent 
visits,  were  noticeable.  Then,  the  bottle  was  brought 
in  his  pocket,  that  it  might  be  filled  to  carry  home. 
The  bottle  became  too  small,  and  a  jug  was  now 
openly  carried  in  his  hand.  Two  years  passed,  and 
he  entered  upon  the  third  with  few  friends,  except 
his  boon  companions ;  with  little  ability  and  less  in- 
tention of  labouring  daily  for  his  bread ;  and  with 
"  the  chains  of  the  monster"  firmly  riveted  on  his 
neck  !  One  more  year,  and  he  lost  all  control  over 
his  property ;  for  the  farm,  nominally  his  own,  was 


THOMAS   REVERE.  157 


1  1  •  v  mortgages  and  incumbrances,  that  it 
was  actually  in  the  possession  of  those  who  had  sup- 
plied his  craving  thirst  and  fed  the  flames  that  were 
now  consuming  him.  Yet  he  was  suffered  to  live 
there  unmolested ;  for  his  personal  effects  were  of 
some  value,  and  the  money-making  rumseller  would 
fain  have  all !  Such  was  the  state  of  Thomas  Re- 
vere's  affairs  on  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Moreton's  family 
in  Lakeland.  Prematurely  infirm  and  broken-down 
in  physical  strength,  his  mind  shattered,  but  reveal- 
ing, in  moments  of  partial  inebriation,  its  former 
brilliant  powers,  he  needed  only  the  stimulus  of  one 
or  two  glasses  to  call  forth  his  powers  of  argumenta- 
tion and  the  quick  repartee  and  bright  sallies  of 
wit  that  showed  the  man  of  talent. 

Under  such  an  influence  was  it  that  Robert  .' 
ton  first  encountered  him.  The  village  store  was 
quiet ;  though,  within  it,  as  he  entered,  he  found 
nil  men,  with  "  Whisky  Tom,"  each  holding 
their  glasses,  and  drinking,  more  or  less  eagerly, 
their  contents.  Behind  the  counter,  stood  the  store- 
keeper, marking  the  new  score  against  Revere,  who, 
with  his  accustomed  liberality,  was  //•/  ntin<j  them  all. 
He  started  upon  Robert's  entrance,  and,  with  mock 
obsequiousness,  bowed  twice  or  thrice  nearly  to  the 
floor.  The  salutation  was  coolly  but  civilly  re- 
turned, and  Robert  passed  on  to  do  his  errand. 
But  he  was  interrupted.  With  his  own  unsteady 
hand  did  the  half-drunken  man  fill  an  empty  glass, 


158  LIFE    IN    THE    WEST. 


and,  in  high-flown  phrase,  loudly  invited  Robert 
to  participate  in  their  carousal,  and  honour  him  by 
taking  a  glass  of  whisky  ! 

"I  never  drink  whisky,"  was  Robert's  laconic 
reply ;  for  he  sought  quickly  to  terminate  this  (to 
him)  disgusting  scene. 

"  Not  whisky  !  Then,  what  may  it  please  your 
honourable  worship  to  have  ?  Rum,  brandy,  gin, 
wine,  cordial  ?"  and  he  ran  through  the  list  of 
liquors  displayed  upon  the  shelf. 

" Neither,"  said  Robert,  politely;  "  1  o 
water  man  !" 

Revere  was  not  so  easily  to  be  set  a 
tossing  off  the  contents  of  the  glass,  its  heating  ;' 
running  through  his  veins,  he  still  per>i.>tnl  in  offer- 
ing him  a  glass,  until,   from  invitation,   it  I 
to  assume  the  character  of  entreaty,  and  af 
that  of  threats,  if  he  would  not  drink  with  him. 

In  this  crisis,  what  could  our  young  friend  do  ?     To 
turn  and  go  without  accomplishing  his  purpose- i 
rand,  would  only  add  to  the  ridicule  and  illy-suppn 
merriment  of  the  lookers-on.     To  pretend  to  drink, 
and  thus  relieve  himself,  he  would  not.     To  < 
tend  with  an  intoxicated   man  was,   he  well  ki. 
worse  than  folly.     His  temper  was  beginning  t 
aroused;  and — as  Revere  stood  by  his  side,  holding 
the   amber-coloured  draught,  his  face   flushed  and 
purple  with  drunken  eagerness,  his  tottering  limbs 
almost  refusing  to  support  him,  his  trembling  hands 


THOMAS    REVERE.  159 


and  bloodshot  eye  revealing  his  own  bondage,  and 
his  thick  and  husky  tones,  half-articulate,  pressing 
:i  and  again  upon  him  the  poisoned  cup — from 
th'.>  impulse  of  the  moment,  Robert  exclaimed,  with 
energy,  as  he  pushed  aside  the  glass — 

"  No,  no !     Would  you  make  me  like  yourself, 

iirr 

There  is  left  to  almost  every  one,  however  aban- 
doned, some  power  to  appreciate  what  "is  lovely 
and  of  good  report."    When  the  power  to  rule  one- 
self is  admitted  to  be  gone,  and  even  the  wish  to  do 
BO  is  all  but  extinguished,  there  will  still  lurk  a  per- 
ception of  goodness  when  it  is  seen ;  and  thus  was 
it  that  the  contrast  thrust  upon  Revere  by  Robert's 
tion  produced  its  efiVct.      I  low  could  it  be  other- 
•  •  ?     In  the  strength  of  his  young  manhood,  his 
1  lifted  with  the  energy  of  a  determined  mind, 
his  fac.-  beaming  with  health  and  intelligence,  stmn^ 
in  the  consciousness  of  rectitude,  and  with  bright  and 
'Ifast  trust  in  the  future,  as  a  future  of  good, — 
what  a  contrast  did  he  present  to  him  who  would 
tempt  him!     It  was  too  palpable,  too  evident  for 
even  the  half-closed  eye  and  dimmed  perceptions  of 
Revere  ! 

"I  will  not !  I  will  not !"  he  muttered,  a$  he  sank 
•into  a  seat ;  and  he  groaned  a  bitter  groan,  as  there 
flashed  upon  him  a  remembrance  of  the  past :  how, 
even  to  him,  it  had  once  been  true  that  life  was  hope- 
ful, and  death  and  eternity  not  to  be  dreaded;  how  he 


160  LIFE    IX   THE    WEST. 


had  started  buoyant  and  strong  in  expectation,  his 
life  crowned  with  blessings,  his  path  strewn  with 
mercies,  and  his  course  watched  with  eyes  of  anxious, 
yearning  love.  Ah  !  yes ;  and  the  recollection  of 
ihatjirxt  y/r/ss  came  now  to  him  !  That  first  indul- 
gence in  what  had  proved  his  ruin !  And  was  lie 
one  to  force  upon  another  the  like  destruction  ?  To 
that  first  yielding  to  temptation  could  he  now  look 
as  the  beginning  of  bis  downward  course;  to  it 
could  he  now  attach  that  weakened  strength  nf  prin- 
ciple, and  its  consequent  prostration,  which  had  left 
him  powerless  in  the  hand  of  the  tempter.  It 
an  hour  of  bitter  thought.  The  same  draught  which 
had  impelled  him  to  use  all  his  powers  to  j 
Robert,  now  awakened  in  him  unnatural  di.-'. 
and  new  remorse.  No  future  dawned  upon  bin 
he  sat  and  thought.  It  was  all  dark, — all  night  ! 
His  own  course  had  been  madness — its  end  was  ruin. 
He  himself  was  but  the  wreck  of  a  man — the  broken 
remains  of  a  goodly  temple,  whereof  the  polished 
shafts  and  chiselled  stones  lay  scattered  and  half- 
buried,  like  his  own  youthful  hopes  and  ;  <  >ns ! 
AY«»uld  that  this  truth  could  be  impressed  upon 
the  heart  and  mind  of  every  youth  : —  \\'!mt  yt,n 
doing  to-day,  you  are  doing  for  eternity!  A  simple 
act,  small  and  insignificant  as  you  may  regard  it, 
may  stain  for  ever  the  purity  of  your  soul.  You 
may  deem  it  trifling,  but  its  performance  may  com- 
mit you  for  a  lifetime ;  it  may  seem  to  be  of  no  ac- 


THOMAS   REVERE.  161 


count,  but  it  may  rest  for  ever  in  the  scale  of  dis- 
honest purposes ;  foolish,  but  it  may  endanger  your 
reputation  through  a  long  course  of  years;  hardly 
sinful,  but  it  may  lead  to  consequences  fearful  and 
lasting  beyond  life — yes,  even  beyond  death  itself ! 
That  first-proffered  glass  made  Thomas  Revere  a 
drunkard,  because  he  yielded  to  its  temptation ;  that 
first  glass,  resisted,  made  Robert  Moreton  firm  as  a 
temperance  man;  and,  from  this  time,  he  was 
known  and  respected  as  one  whose  appetite  was  not 
to  be  overcome  when  tempted,  nor  his  principles 
successfully  assailed. 


14 


162  LIFE   IN    THE   WEST. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

MARY'S  LETTER. 

"  TIME,  in  passing,  takes  us  along  with  it."  Un- 
consciously, the  spring  glides  into  KUIHIKT,  the 
autumn  into  winter,  until  it  is  only  by  looking  far 
back  that  we  can  realize  the  rapidity  with  which 
life  is  passing  away. 

It  is  not  our  intention  to  dwell  minutely  upon 
every-day  occurrences  in  the  Moreton  family.  The 
summer's  work  and  pleasures,  the  v  plans 

and  entertainments  are  more  concisely  narrated  in 
the  following  letter  of  Mary's  to  her  iVi-.-nd  Lucy 
Leighton,  which  we  take  the  liberty  to  lay  before 
our  readers : 

Lakeland,  January  2d,  18 — . 

DEAR  LUCY  : — Oh !  that  rough  leather  mail-bag  that 
rides  past  our  house  on  horseback,  once  every  week ! 
What  good  things  it  sometimes  brings !  When  it 
was  slowly  moving  along,  last  week,  I  had  a  pre- 
sentiment that  it  held  something  more  precious  than 
our  weekly  supply  of  papers  and  pamphlets ;  and  I 
was  not  disappointed !  HarcLj  one  of  us  but  re- 
ceived some  token  of  remembrance  from  absent 
friends,  telling  us  that  we  were  not  forgotten. 


MARY'S  LETTER.  10 £ 


Your's,  dear  Lucy,  with  its  promise  of  good  for  our 
Sunday-school  library,  was  not  the  least  welcome. 
You  have  accomplished  much  for  us,  in  getting  so 
choice  a  supply  of  books,  and  they  cannot  fail  to 
help  us  in  our  work.  AVe  thank  you  for  your 
efforts,  and  we  thank  all  who  have  aided  you. 

And  our  letters !  How  we  listened,  as  we  heard 
parts  or  the  whole,  first  of  one,  then  of  another. 
ry  item  of  news  was  discussal — every  expres- 
sion of  affection  treasured.  "\\Yiv  this  not  our  home, 
there  might  have  been  some  longings,  some  wishes ! 
Dear  old  Laurelton,  with  its  beautiful  homes  and 
pleasant  friends  !  No  home  will  efface  the  remem- 
brance of  that  from  our  memories — no  friends  ever 
be  dearer  than  those  we  K-ft  t; 

But  here  we  are  truly  happy; — even  at  the  AV<  -t, 
and  wintering  in  a  log-cabin  with  whitewashed  walls ! 
The  barn  was  finished,  and  the  horses,  cows,  and 
crops  provided  for;  but  by  no  possible  effort  was 
father  able  to  get  the  house  into  a  habitable  state  for 
the  winter.  He  was  disappointed,  and  says  that 
the  only  trouble  he  has  had  here  has  been  the  little 
dependence  to  be  placed  upon  the  word  of  others, 
many  of  whom  like  to  work  only  when  there  is  no- 
thing else  to  do. 

Even  in  the  log-house,  as  I  said,  we  are  happy. 
We  are  well,  and  a  fresh  chinking  outside  made  the 
walls  all  tight;  while  the  abundance  of  fire-wood, 
which  would  delight  poor  people  at  the  East,  keeps 


104  LIFE   IX    THE    WEST. 


us  warm.  The  climate  is  more  mild  than  that  of 
New  England,  and  only  a  few  days  have  been  too 
cold  to  be  pleasant.  Charles,  Willie,  and  Alice  go 
to  school  to  Mr.  Blagden.  Susan  accompanies  them 
three  afternoons  in  the  week,  having  been  engaged 
by  Mr.  Blagden  to  give  instruction  in  needlework  to 
the  girls.  This  plan  pleases  all.  The  mothers  like 
it;  for  they  have  many  a  nice  piece  of  mending 
or  making  accomplished  without  their  oversight. 
The  girls  like  it,  as  a  variation  from  their  school 
studies.  And  Susan,  far  from  being  weary  of  the 
monotony  of  "  stitch,  stitch,  stitching/'  seems  more 
and  more  pleased,  as  she  sees  the  improvement  and 
ambition  of  her  scholars. 

Our  domestic  labours  are  not  great  or  heavy; 
yet  mother,  Susan,  and  I  find  sufficient  occupation- 
for  every  morning.  Winne  stands  rea<ly  to  aid  us, 
whenever  we  need  her  help ;  and  we  call  upon  her 
often,  considering  that  we  live  in  a  small  house,  and 
dispense  with  all  but  absolute  wants.  Besides  t ! 
I  hear  Annie  recite  every  day,  and,  on  Saturday  of 
each  week,  I  have  a  singing-school  for  the  Sunday- 
school  children.  This  was  brought  about  by  acci- 
dent. Annie,  in  her  rambles  soon  after  we  came 
here,  followed,  for  some  distance,  the  little  brook 
near  which  Patrick's  dwelling  stands.  Its  course 
was  not  remarkably  interesting  at  first,  for  it  was 
straight  and  sunny ;  but  suddenly  it  took  a  turn, 
and  came  back  into  the  woodland  owned  by  father, 


MARY'S  LETTKK.  105 


making  a  bend  which  left  some  rods  of  ground, 
covered  with  green,  soft  grass,  and  shaded  by  large 
black  walnut  trees.  It  was  a  pleasant  surprise  to 
Annie.  The  soft  western  sunlight  spread  cheerfully 
over  it,  the  little  stream  flowed  so  quietly  on,  and  the 
trees  were  so  alive  with  birds,  that  she  was  charmed. 
On  her  return,  she  told  us  of  it  with  delight,  and 
dwelt  so  long  upon  the  multitude  of  birds  she  saw 
there,  that  Willie,  always  ready  with  a  word,  de- 
clared it  must  be  "  the  birds'  parlour."  The  name 
pleased  us;  and,  when  we  vi.-iu-d  it  in  a  company, 
the  next  day,  we  voted  unanimously  that  it  was 
well  named,  and  from  that  time  it  should  be  our 
chosen  gathering-place. 

Frank  and  Charles  entered  immediately  upon  the 
work  of  clearing  out  the  undergrowth  and  trimming 
the  trees.  This  done,  Charlie,  who  admiivs  ;/ 
widcrtakui'j*,  thought  some  stones  judiciously  pi; 
where  there  was  a  slight  fall  of  water,  would  make 
its  course  more  melodious,  for  it  was  evident  that, 
in  the  matter  of  noise,  the  birds  had  the  pre-emi- 
nence. Stones  are  not  very  plenty  hereabouts,  and 
the  old  rocky  hills  of  Laurelton  had  the  honour  of 
a  sigh  to  their  memory ;  but,  by  dint  of  perseverance, 
enough  were  gathered,  and  it  was  a  great  improve- 
ment. Robert  made  some  rough  seats  for  the  place; 
and,  when  all  was  finished,  mother  gave  permission 
for  the  children  to  have  a  rural  party  there. 

It  was  quite  a  gathering  of  the  village  boys  and 
i-t* 


160  LIFE    IN    THE    WEST. 


girls,  and  a  merry  time  they  made  of  it.  An  attempt 
to  have  some  music  seemed  to  please ;  and  one  song 
that  I  sang  suited  so  well,  that  I  offered  to  teach  it  to 
one  or  two.  So  many  pressed  forward  to  try  their 
skill  at  learning  it,  that  we  frightened  the  birds  out 
of  their  home ;  and,  after  practising  some  time,  we 
parted,  with  the  promise  to  meet  a^ini.  Fnnn  that 
time,  Saturday  has  been  the  day,  and  I  have  been 
regularly  installed  as  leader,  with  the  understanding 
that  my  efforts  shall  be  mainly  directed  for  the 
benefiting  of  the  Sabbath-school. 

We  had  no  hymn-books,  and  it  was  rather  dull  at 
first  to  learn  verses ;  but  they  have  per  and 

now  their  memories  are  stored  with  enough  hymns 
and  tunes  to  make  a  variety  for  the  school,  I  have 
begun  to  try  and  drill  them  in  "the  rudiments/' 
My  success  is  not  remarkable,  but  it  is  enough  to 
keep  off  discouragement. 

For  several  weeks  after  we  came,  we  had  no  pub- 
lic worship  on  the  Sabbath.  Father  proposed  to 
Mr.  Johnson  to  have  our  Sabbath-school  earlier,  and 
thus  leave  time  for  a  sermon  to  be  read  afterwards. 
Together  they  asked  Mr.  Blagden  to  be  the  reader ; 
he  consented,  and  our  congregation  has  every  week 
been  becoming  larger;  and,  if  we  can  only  have  a 
missionary  sent,  we  shall  try  hard  to  find  a  better 
place  than  the  school-house  for  him  to  preach  in. 
Beside  this  service,  we  have  occasional  preaching 
from  clergymen  from  the  neighbouring  settlements. 


MARY'S  LETTER.  167 


Did  you  know  that  Ilk-hard  ("I  ray  WM  coming  out 
to  us  in  the  spring?  This  arrangement  has  made 
TV  happy,  as  it  makes  Susan's  >tay  with  us,  or 
near  us,  almost  certain.  A  shop  is  to  be  rented  in 
the  village,  and  over  its  door  is  to  be  a  sign,  lour- 
ing upon  it  the  names  of  "Gray  &  Moreton,"  and 
in  it  there  is  to  be  all  kinds  of  furniture  for  which 
there  may  be  any  market. 

Frank  has  decided   to   accept  father's  offer  of  a 
collegia!:'  education,  but  will  not  leave  home  fora 
.      lie  studies  with  Mr.  Hlagden,  and  has  found 
a  Mr.  Van  "\Veichteii,  who   is  willing   :  him 

in  his  (1- Tman.     These  lessons  he  repeats  to  me,  so 
that  1  am  able  to  make  some  progress. 

You  ask  how  we  amuse  ourselves  these  long  win- 
ter evenings.  Our  newspapers  and  books  are  invalu- 
able; but,  just  now,  we  have  had  the  holidays,  and 
have  kept  them,  too,  as  holidays  !  Christ  in  a-  mft- 
ing,  the  Van  Weiehtens  invited  us  there;  fi.r,  like 
all  Germans,  it  was  to  be  their  great  family  festival. 
The  old  gentleman,  at  whose  house  the  gathering 
was  to  be  held,  is  the  father  of  Frank's  t<  aelur,  and 
lives  some  miles  out  from  us.  "\Ve  went,  as  it  be- 
gan to  be  evening,  all  packed  in  the  great  wagon- 
sleigh,  and  covered  with  buffalo  robes, — for  the  air 
was  cold  and  sharp.  The  moonli-Iir  struggled  with 
scattered  clouds,  and  revealed,  indistinctly  at  times, 
the  great  bare  trunks  and  branches  of  the  old 
forest-trees,  glittering  with  their  covering  of  frost ; 


168  LIFE    IN   THE   AYE  ST. 


and  the  snow  upon  the  ground  creaked  beneath  the 
runners  of  our  vehicle.  My  letter  is  too  long  for 
me  to  describe  it  all :  from  the  huge  bonfire  outside 
the  door,  to  the  hearty  welcome  and  boisterous 
greetings  within ;  from  the  social  conversation,  to 
the  merry  games;  from  the  bountiful  feast,  to  the 
Christmas-tree,  laden  with  the  simple  offerings  of 
love  for  each  and  all.  Nor  can  I  tell  you  of  the 
warm  affection  that  prevailed  amongst  them,  and 
made  them  all  so  charming.  Grandfather  and 
grandmother,  parents,  children,  and  all,  seemed  ac- 
tually to  live  for  each  other,  and,  as  father  said,  were 
truly  an  exemplification  of  the  beauty  of 
toyi-tlu-r  in  unify.  The  getting  away  from  such 
hospitality  was  not  easily  accomplished ;  and  then 
the  ride  home,  the  moon  hidden  behind  dark  masses 
of  clouds,  and  the  snowflakes,  falling  thick  and  fast, 
covering  us  with  a  fleecy  mantle ! 

But  I  must  tell  you  of  our  own  New  Year,  which 
was  so  quietly  pleasant.  Frank's  picture  of  the  old 
homestead,  for  mother,  was  the  gift  which  appeared 
to  give  most  pleasure.  The  little  secrets  and  sur- 
prises of  us  children  were  quite  well  managed ;  and 
Annie's  pincushions  and  watch-cases,  and  Charles's 
tame  pigeon  for  Annie,  and  his  little  gray  owl  for 
Alice,  were  as  wonderful  as  ever  gifts  were.  Willie 
had  made  us  some  thread-winders;  Frank  had 
gathered  a  huge  basket  of  cranberries  for  family 
use;  Eobert  had  a  picture-frame,  which  fitted 


MARY'S  LETTER.  169 


Frank's  offering  to  mother  so  exactly,  that  it  ex- 
cited a  suspicion  of  confederation ;  and  Henry,  who 
had  nothing  to  give,  got  up,  shook  hands  with  each 
one,  and  offered  his  services  for  the  next  year  to 
whoever  should  want  them.  Alice,  when  it  came 
her  turn,  jumped  upon  his  neck,  and  would  not 
release  him  until  she  had  received  a  good,  hearty, 
sonorous  kiss.  Mother's  large  Xew-Year's  cake  was 
not  wanting,  nor  were  the  apples  and  nuts;  and 
then,  when  all  our  merriment  was  hushed,  father 
reminded  us  of  our  obligations  to  Him  who  had 
taken  care  of  us;  and  ivad  that  K-autiful  psalm,* 
beginning — "  Bless  the  Lord,  oh  my  soul :  and  all 
that  is  within  me  bless  his  holy  name,  who  redeem- 
eth  thy  life  from  destruction,  and  crowneth  thee 
with  loving-kindness  and  tender  mercies;"  and  the 
evening  was  closed  with  prayer. 

Thus  we  live,  dear  Lucy.  I  have  not  told  you 
all  that  I  would  like,  but  enough  to  have  you  know 
that  life  in  the  woods  is  far  from  uninteresting  or 
uninviting  to  us.  We  mis.s  our  old  friends;  and  it 
is  their  absence  alone  that  makes  us  ever  look  with 
longing  desires  toward  our  Northern  home.  I 
shall  have  to  write  to  you  again ;  for  I  can  say  no 
more  now  than  that  I  am 

Your  affectionate  friend, 

MAKY  MORETON. 

*  Ps.  ciii. 


170  LIFE   IN    THE   WEST. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


"THERE  is  scarcely  any  well-informed  person, 
who,  if  he  has  the  will,  has  not  the  power  to  add 
something  essential  to  the  general  stock  of  know- 

-•o,  if  he  will  only  observe,  regularly  and  method- 
ically, some  particular  class  of  facts,  which  may 
most  excite  his  attention,  or  which  his  situation  may 
best  enable  him  to  study  with  eft- 

This  observation  of  Sir  John  Herschel*  still 
holds  true ;  and  of  no  class  of  persons  is  it  more  true 
than  of  farmers,  whose  hourly  and  daily  business 
brings  before  their  minds  facts  in  the  natural  world 
which  must  awaken  curiosity,  and  results  which 
baffle  their  powers  of  investigation.  The  geogra- 
phical distribution  of  plants ;  the  characteristics  of 
soils;  the  growth  of  trees;  the  eradication  of  weeds; 
the  perfecting  of  various  kinds  of  grain ;  the  im- 
provement of  vegetables;  the  knowledge  of  the 
structure  and  habits  of  animals  that  are  useful  or 
troublesome,  and  of  insects  and  diseases  that  hinder 

*  Discourse  on  the  Study  of  Natural  Philosophy. 


FARMING.  171 


or  destroy  their  crops ;  and  the  improvement  and 
good-keeping  of  domestic  stock, — are  among  the 
most  obvious  of  a  farmer's  cares. 

In  a  new  country,  we  must  add  to  these,  the 
clearing  and  subduing  of  wild  lands,  the  wood-chop- 
ping, the  logging,  the  burning  of  brush-heaps,  the 
making  of  potash  from  the  ashes,  the  laying  out 
and  fencing  of  lands,  the  rotation  of  wheat  and 
grass  crops,  giving  time  for  the  decay  of  roots  and 
stumps,  and  the  draining  of  marshes ;  and  we  can 
readily  see  that  to  be  "  a  tiller  of  the  soil"  brings 
with  it  many  and  arduous  labours,  which  call 
for  strength  of  body,  and  no  less  for  ingenuity 
of  plans  and  wise  calculations.  The  introduction 
of  scientific  agriculture  has  ahvrnly  benefited  the 
farmer,  and  we  may  look  for  still  greater  results  in 
his  behalf  from  the  careful  and  close  investigations 
of  chemists  and  men  of  observation.  Only  with 
the  illiterate  is  the  term  of  a  "  book-fanner"  one  of 
reproach;  for  experience  has  proved  the  value  of 
many  a  suggestion  and  the  utility  of  many  a  scheme 
which  has  originated  in  the  mind  of  some  secluded 
student,  working  away  in  silence  upon  the  basis  of 
facts  brought  to  his  knowledge  by  the  practical 
labouring-man. 

The  partial  clearing  and  cultivation  of  Mr.  More- 
ton's  farm,  while  it  increased  the  present  comfort  of 
its  occupants,  did  not  preclude  the  necessity  of  at- 
tending to  all  these  earlier  duties  of  an  emigrant. 


172  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


Many  a  winter's  day  did  the  young  men  take  an 
early  start  for  the  woods,  with  dinner-basket  in 
hand,  and  Carlo  frisking  by  their  side.  With  axes 
over  their  shoulders,  would  they  briskly  go  to  their 
day's  labour;  and  the  merry  ringing  echo  of 
stroke  after  stroke  resounded  through  the  still 
woods,  while,  with  mighty  crash,  one  old  monarch- 
tree  after  another  was  laid  low.  Then  the  loud 
"  Gee  !  whoa !  Gee  up  !"  might  be  heard,  day  after 
day,  as,  with  heavy  chains  and  the  help  of  the  03 
they  drew  the  huge  logs  together,  an-1  In -aped  on  the 
brush,  ready  for  the  first  still,  dry  weather,  in  ot 
to  burn  them.  Nor  were  their  woods  less  pi 
and  beautiful  than  others,  as,  with  great  delight,  the 
younger  boys  kindled  tires  beneath  these  hea^,  an«l 
watched  them  lighting  up  so  brilliantly,  by  night, 
the  forests  around,  and  sending  forth,  by  day,  their 
columns  of  blue  smoke,  that  rose  gracefully  and  diffu- 
sed a  mild,  soft  haziness  throughout  the  atmosphere. 

It  had  been  of  great  benefit  to  Mr.  M»>iv; 
retain   the   services  of  Mr.   llinckley  through   his 
first  summer.     A  new  and  large  farm,  with  imper- 
fect means  of  culture  and  but  little  hired  aid, 
very  different  from  his  small  and  highly-cultivated 
homestead  in  Laurelton;  and  it  was  with  interest 
that  he  watched  the  contrivances  and  devices  of  his 
predecessor  in  securing  from  the  land  all  the  advan- 
tages it  could  be  made  to  yield.    This  knowledge  of 
the  hindrances  he  must  meet,  and  the  expedients 


FARM  INT..  173 


>me  difficulties,  placed  him  on  au 
equality  with  the  neighbouring  farmers;  while  his 
acquaintance  with  the  later  modes  of  producing  a 
greater  increase  of  crops,  gave  him,  in  some  respi 
the  superiority. 

The  return  of  spring  was  welcomed  by  all. 
Again  did  the  lark,  the  robin,  the  phebe-bird,  and 
the  whip-poor-will  make  themselves  heard.  Again 
did  the  yellow  cowslips  appear  on  the  margin  of  the 
brooks  and  gayly  nod  to  the  snowy  "arrow-hca 
that  gently  reposed  on  the  waters.  Again  did  the 
humming-bees  daintily  vi>it,  iirst  one,  then  the 
other,  but  tarried  not  long,  as  it'  they  would  say, 
"  You  do  very  well,  for  the  present ;  but  we  know 
that  your  cousins,  the  eglantine  and  the  sweet  violeJ, 
are  coming,  and  we  will  just  wait,  if  yuu  }<K-;. 
so  they  but  sipped  of  their  cups,  and  away  they 
flew.  Again  did  the  golden  sunshine  brighten  the 
borders  of  the  fleecy  clouds  above,  and  gleam 
cheerily,  peeping  in  under  the  spreading  branches 
of  the  trees,  and  calling  out  the  "  eye-brights,"  the 
blue  lupines,  and  the  crimson  lieh-nedia,  to  welcome 
its  genial  warmth.  After  the  long  winter,  who  would 
not  rejoice  at  its  return  ?  The  birds  loudly  sang 
their  happiness;  the  flowers  blossomed  in  their  joy; 
little  children  shouted  with  pleasure,  as  they  threw 
off  their  hats,  and  its  warm  beams  fell  upon  their 
clustering  hair ;  staid  housewives  opened  their  doors, 
that  its  golden  light  might  come  in;  and  its  cheerful 

15 


174  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


influence  reached  their  hearts;  and  the  farmers, 
ready  with  their  open  furrows,  cast  in  the  grain  that 
it  came  to  quicken  into  life.  "  Truly  the  light  is 
sweet,  and  a  pleasant  thing  it  is  for  the  eyes  to  be- 
hold the  sun." 

If  "  weather  be  the  farmer's  master,"  as  has  been 
said,  its  ordering  is  for  his  happiness.  The  accumu- 
lated labours  of  spring,  as  the  seed-time,  can  be  met 
by  the  anticipatory  work  of  a  leisure  winter ;  and, 
if  the  growing  weeds  of  summer  must  be  rooted 
out,  the  ripening  of  growing  crops  gives  the  time ; 
while  the  bright,  warm  days  of  autumn,  with  their 
invigorating  atmosphere,  invite  to  the  extra  toil  of 
harvesting. 

Mr.  Moreton's  design,  in  removing  to  his  Western 
farm,  was  to  prosecute  his  occupation  in  all  its  varied 
branches.  A  large  wheat  or  a  large  corn  farm  was 
not  what  he  wanted.  To  raise  such  supplies  as  he 
might  need  for  family  use,  both  in  summer  and 
winter,  was  his  first  object;  after  that,  to  adapt 
such  crops  as  might  be  marketable  to  his  locality, 
and  gradually  to  enlarge  his  cultivated  fields,  as  op- 
portunity offered  for  making  them  profitable. 

His  new  house,  into  which  the  family  had  now 
removed,  was  a  substantial  two-story  wooden  house. 
It  stood  on  the  elevated  land  back  of  the  log-cabin ; 
and,  at  first,  with  its  white  walls  and  need  of  shade, 
it  was  not  very  attractive.  Busy  hands  soon  gave 
its  interior  a  different  aspect.  Familial*  articles  of 


FARMINVr.  175 


furniture  tastefully  arranged,  a  few  old  pictures 
hung  upon  its  walls,  and  vases  of  wild  flowers  upon 
the  table  and  mantel,  gave  to  the  new  parlour  a  very 
!  v  appearance.  Then,  a  Western  kitchen, 
with  its  shining  black  stove  and  its  tidy  cupboards, 
alwav-  has  a  eozy,  comfortable  look.  The  "  mo$ 
room!''  what  family  knows  not  that  sociable  spot — 
that  h*n,'t  of  the  house?  To  it  go  the  weary,  the 
.  and  the  happy,  all  sure  of  sympathy 
and  of  aid — all  secure  in  their  expectation  of  meet- 
ing there  the  cheering  word,  the  comforting  smile, 
and  the  loving  friend.  The  "  spare  room,"  with  its 
in  demurely  placed,  its  well-shaken  bed,  and  its 
snowy  curtains.  Annie's  "  little  sunny-side,"  open- 
ing out  of  the  mother's  room,  fitted  with  its  pillows 
and  cushions,  and  showing,  on  every  hand,  gifts 
;'ted  to  soothe  her  hours  of  weariness  and  lan- 
guishing. The  boys'  rooms,  with  their  -lulves  of 
books,  and  drawers  for  their  varied  possessions;  and 
the  pleasant  sleeping  apartments  of  the  girls,  so 
white  with  muslin  drapery.  Who  could  say  that, 
even  in  its  freshness,  Mr.  Moreton's  was  not  a 
pleasant  house'? 

Who  should  care  for  the  chickens,  little  feathery 
broods  of  which  rapidly  made  their  appearance  in 
the  yard ;  whose  labour  it  should  be  to  watch  the 
wandering  ducks  and  geese ;  who  should  feed  the 
pigs  and  look  after  the  new  lambs ;  and  that  the 
first  calf  should  be  called  "Snowball," — was  all 


176  LIFE   IN    THE   WEST. 


duly  settled.  The  flower-garden  was  planned  and 
planted,  Annie's  flower-seeds,  in  spite  of  their  age, 
proving  good  and  true  to  their  labels.  The  kitchen- 
garden,  with  its  beds  of  light-green  lettuce,  its  grow- 
ing cabbage-plants,  its  vines,  and  its  bushes,  was 
finished.  Mrs.  Hinckley's  currant-bushes  were 
found  to  be  in  a  bearing  state,  and  the  small  green 
peaches  took  the  place  of  those  rosy  garlands  that 
hung  so  beautifully  over  the  garden-fence.  Then 
the  corn-fields  were  green,  the  potato-patches  pro- 
mising, and  the  melon-spot  was  doing  itself  great 
credit.  Beyond  all,  were  the  wheat-fields,  spreading 
out  their  broad  acres  to  the  borders  of  the  farm  !  That 
first  year,  (as  if  to  encourage  their  hopes,)  no  mil- 
dew, nor  blight,  nor  rust  came  to  mar  their  fn -sh- 
ness  or  promise.  From  the  first  bright  green 
covering  of  the  ground,  to  the  full  swaying  of  their 
laden  and  bearded  heads,  yellow  with  ripeness  and 
ready  for  the  sickle,  it  was  one  progressive  course, 
without  hindrance  or  drawback;  and  with  joyful 
hearts  did  they  reap  their  grain  and  bear  it  to  the 
new  threshing-floor,  adding  themselves  to  the  last 
heaping  load,  and  loudly  shouting  their  Western 
et  harvest-home/' 

During  the  whole  year,  Robert  and  Henry,  with 
the  natural  impetuosity  of  youth,  would  often  have 
overtasked  their  strength  by  undertaking  labours  too 
severe  or  protracted  for  them  to  accomplish.  To 
prevent  this,  their  father  would  propose  plans  of 


FARMING.  177 


entertainment  and  excursions  to  the  neighbouring 
settlements,  to  occupy  hours  that  could  be  spared 
from  the  farm-work,  and  which  would  give  them 
opportunities  for  social  intercourse  with  their  neigh- 
bours. The  Sabbath  came,  too,  with  its  hall, 
rest,  refreshing  both  their  physical  and  spiritual 
natures  with  its  benigu  influences.  In  the  early 
spring,  the  roads  were  to  be  mended  and  new 
bridges  built,  and  cheerfully  did  they  all  asso< 
with  their  townsmen  in  their  efforts  for  the  public 
good. 

As  for  the  younger  children,  there  was  school, 
with  its  ph-asant  intercourse.  There  was  fishing  for 
the  buys,  and  holiday  walks  after  crai.'  ;!K-H 

came   the   maple-sugar  season,   and  the    clump  of 
-    left   for   a   sugar-orchard    was    the    place   of 
resort.     To  tap   the  trees  and  gather  the  sap  : 
keep  the  large  iron  kettle   1- 

then  to  bear  the  thick,  luscious  liquid  to  the  limi--, 
where  Susan  and  Mary  were  ready  to  purify  . 
finish  it  more  slowly, — this  was  pleasure,  not  work ! 
The  gathering  of  wild  flowers,  the  improvement  of 
"  the  bird's  parlour,"  the  taming  of  squirrels,  and 
the  attempt  to  naturalize  some  plants  and  shrubs 
sent  from  home, — these  were  the  employments  that 
gave  a  variety  to  their  life. 

But  the  bearer  of  those  plants  and  shrubs — who 
was  he  ?  That  very  Richard  Gray,  of  whom  Mary 
wrote  to  her  friend,  Lucy  Leighton.  Days,  even 

15* 


178  LIFE   IX    THE    WEST. 


weeks,  passed  before  the  stock  of  news  he  brought 
from  home  was  exhausted.  Every  thing  and  every- 
body in  Laurelton  was  discussed,  messages  received 
from  friends,  and  tokens  of  affection  admired.  Of 
Richard's  plans  and  prospects,  there  was  no  little 
talk  among  themselves ;  for  was  he  not  to  be  one  of 
them?  Susan  herself,  though  more  nearly  int.  r* 
in  their  success,  was  not  more  earnest  in  her  hopes 
than  they,  or  more  ingenious  in  her  schemes  to  help 
him  in  this,  his  first  start  in  business;  while  31  r. 
Moreton's  words  of  encouragement  brightened  the 
future  of  both,  and  his  advice  and  aid  smoothed 
away  the  first  difficulties  in  their  path. 

"This  shall  be  your  home,  Richard/'  said  he, 
"  until  you  have  one  for  yourself.  Begin  carefully 
and  economically.  Remember  my  motto  for  all 
sure  progress,  'Never  haste,  never  rest/  With  a 
good  trade,  industrious  habits,  and  a  bright  prospect 
ahead,  you  will  succeed.  I  shall  keep  Robert,  your 
partner,  with  me  this  year,  and  you  shall  have  all 
the  labour  and  all  the  profits  of  the  e.-taljli.^lnnent. 
After  that,  we  will  see."  And,  with  an  order  for 
some  furniture,  he  left  him  to  work  his  way  on. 

There  were  two  great  events  to  mark  the  summer, 
in  the  estimation  of  the  children.  One  was  the 
arrival  of  a  little  girl  at  Patrick's — a  nice  little 
baby,  whom  Winne,  from  gratitude,  desired  to  call 
after  "  Miss  Annie ;"  and  the  other,  the  due  cele- 
bration of  the  yearly-recurring  national  holiday. 


FARMING.  179 


For  this,  all  ordinary  labour  on  the  farm  was  sus- 
pended, and  the  day  given  up  to  amusement. 

The  Lakeland  people  readily  responded  to  the 
call  for  help  in  this  festival,  (ostensibly  given  in  be- 
half of  the  Sunday-school,)  and  as  readily  aovpted 
the  general  invitation  to  be  present.  Children, 
teachers,  and  parents  assembled  in  the  court-house, 
and  there  they  had  music  and  speeches;  after  which 
they  marched,  in  not  very  orderly  procession,  to  a 
neighbouring  grove.  There  were  bountiful  tables 
prepared  for  their  refreshment,  of  which  all  par- 
took. An  oration  from  Robert  Moreton,  short,  but 
directly  bearing  upon  the  subject  of  temperance, 
and  a  hymn  in  honour  of  cold  water,  sweetly  sung 
by  the  children,  finished  their  public  exercises ;  but 
an  impression  was  left  upon  the  minds  of  most, 
which  firmly  remained  then  r, — that  Sun- 

day-schools and  temperance  were  good  things;  and 
all  agreed,  as  they  disperse  Dotting  of  the 

sun,  that  this  Fourth  of  July  had  been  "a  very 
pleasant  day." 

Our  readers  will  easily  see  that  in  all  these  em- 
ployments there  were  toil  and  labour.  For  none  is 
there  exemption  from  that  sentence  which  pro- 
claimed that  by  the  sweat  of  his  face  should  man 
eat  bread ;  and  our  friends  looked  not  for  a  life  of 
inaction  or  freedom  from  care.  Would  they  have 
desired  it?  Did  not  the  weary  physical  frame 
sometimes  faint  by  the  way,  and  did  not  rest,  bodily 


180  LIFE    IN    THE    WEST. 


rest,  seem  inviting  to  them  ?  Yes !  and  sleep,  re- 
freshing sleep,  brought  it !  "  sweet"  to  them,  as 
"  labouring  men."  For  a  life  of  indolence,  a  list- 
less state  of  personal  ease,  their  habits  and  educa- 
tion had  unfitted  them,  even  if  their  tastes  had  led 
them  in  that  direction.  Industry,  cheered  on  by  a 
love  of  all  that  was  beautiful  in  nature,  character- 
ized them  as  a  family.  Labour,  directed  to  a  d. 
able  cud,  was  praiseworthy;  and  the  lesser  cares 
and  toils  were  all  made  light  and  pleasant,  as  they 
were  seen  to  promote  the  comfort  and  well-being 
of  those  around.  "  The  hand  of  the  diligent  m;iketh 
rich,"  not  only  in  the  attainment  of  outward  posses- 
sions, but  in  that  wealth  of  the  heart. 
Day  after  day  did  they  experience  this,  as,  rising 
from  their  beds,  they  shook  off  slumber,  and  wtnt 
forth  to  their  daily  duties,  "providing  meat  in  sum- 
mer, and  gathering  food  in  harvest ;"  and  to  them 
was  the  promise  fulfilled  :  "  He  that  tilleth  his  land 
shall  have  plenty  of  bread." 


CHARLES  MURETON.  181 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

CHARLES    MORETON. 

CHARLIE  MORETON  in  trouble!  Can  it  be? 
Why  else  does  he,  so  long  before  evening,  seek  his 
chamber,  and  remain  there,  too  ?  Why  sits  he  dis- 
consolately on  the  foot  of  his  bed,  pressing  his  throb- 
bing temples  with  his  hot  hands  ?  Why  does  he 
refuse  to  hear  the  gentle  knock  at  his  door,  and 
when  Annie's  soft  voice  says,  "  Charlie!  Charlie  I1' 
why  does  he  not  hasten  to  receive  IHT  ?  Why  offer 
no  word  of  welcome  or  thanks,  as  she  herself  opens 
the  door,  and  carefully  brings  in  the  little  salver, 
with  its  burden  of  choice  food  for  his  evening  meal? 
Is  he  sick,  or  weary,  or  discouraged?  Notwith- 
standing Annie's  care  for  him,  it  is  easy  to  see  that 
she  is  grieved;  her  eyes  gleam  through  a  misty 
veil  of  tears,  her  pale  cheek  is  paler  than  usual,  and 
sighs,  that  she  vainly  seeks  to  repress,  come  one 
after  another  from  her  lips. 

As  she  lays  her  soft  hand  on  Charlie's  head,  he  im- 
patiently says,  "  Don't,  Annie."  She  sees  that  he  can- 
not yet  bear  sympathy,  and  she  waits  in  silence,  quietly 
seating  herself  by  his  side.  As  the  minutes  pass  away, 


182  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


so  passes  the  anger  and  impulsive  passion  of  Charles 
Moreton.  He  knew  that  he  had  done  wrong. 
Although,  on  his  way  from  school,  and  while  the 
shouts  of  the  boys  were  ringing  in  his  ears,  he  had 
deemed  himself  a  hero  fighting  a  worthy  battle,  the 
stillness  of  home  and  the  sad  looks  of  father,  mother, 
brothers,  and  sisters,  as  he  came,  torn  and  soiled, 
with  flushed  face  and  bruised  eye,  into  their  quiet 
circle,  gave  a  different  aspect  to  the  whole  case. 
If  he  had  not  pleased  the  Scotch  boy,  Duncan 
Dunwoodie,  in  their  bargain,  and  had  been  called 
"a  cheating  Yankee/'  why  need  he  have  resented 
it,  and  called  him  "a  mean  thistle-thorn  back?" 
Was  there  any  necessity  of  "  giving  as  good  as  he 
sent/'  when  Duncan  heaped  opprobrious  epithets 
upon  him,  or  of  returning  that  first,  half-accidental 
blow  he  received  ?  Ah,  Charlie !  is  that  quick, 
passionate  temper  of  your's  ungovernable  ?  Shall 
it  be  master,  and  Charles  Moreton  be  its  servant  ? 

" Don't  stay,  Annie,"  at  last  he  said;  "don't 
stay  with  me." 

"  But  shall  I  not  tell  father  you  are  sorry  ?"  she 
answered.  "  They  are  all  so  sad,  Charlie." 

There  was  no  answer,  and  she  pointed  to  the  plate 
and  asked — 

"Won't  you  have  this  nice  cake,  that  Mary  sent 
you  ?  And  a  glass  of  milk  ?" 

"I  cannot  take  it,  Annie.  Do  go  and  leave 
me !" 


CHARLES    MORETON.  183 


"But  let  me  first  bathe  your  head  with  this  fresh, 
cool  water,  Charlie/'  she  persisted ;  "  it  will  make 
it  so  much  better/' 

Busying  herself  about  him,  she  led  him  to  talk 
of  his  quarrel,  and  give  a  continuous  account  of  it. 
He  found  it  hard  to  justify  himself;  and  when  she 
said — 

"  You  did  wrong,  Charlie  !" — he  was  ready  to 
answer — 

"  I  know  it ;  and  that  is  the  worst  of  it ;  that  is 
why  father  is  so  much  displeased,  and  why  mother 
looked  so  grieved,  and  why  I  feel  so  unhappy." 

"  Then  I  may  tell  father  you  are  sorry.  Oh,  I 
am  so  glad  !  Now  we  shall  be  happy  again,  and 
father  will  let  you  come  down.  May  I  tell  him, 
too,  that  you  promise  not  to  quarrel  with  the  boys 

.        o  j  j 

again  : 

"  I  cannot  make  any  promises,  Annie.  I  always 
break  them/' 

"  But  you  will  try ;  and  I  may  tell  them  that  ?" 
With  permission  to  do  this,  she  gladly  departed 
on  her  joyful  errand,  leaving  him  to  solitude  and 
repose. 

The  following  morning,  Charles  was  early 
strolling  in  the  garden.  The  flitting  clouds  were 
no  unfitting  emblems  of  the  gloom  that  oversha- 
dowed his  face.  His  anger  was  gone,  his  temper 
subdued ;  but,  with  the  remembrance  of  the  past, 
there  came  a  distrust  of  the  future ;  and,  as  he 


184  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


seated  himself  on  one  of  the  garden-benches,  he  ex- 
claimed— 

"  I  cannot  do  it !     I  know  I  never  can  !" 

"  What  is  it  that  you  cannot  do,  my  son  ?"  asked 
a  voice  behind  him,  which  %e  knew  to  be  his 
father's. 

Charles  hesitated.  lie  had  thought  himself  alone, 
and  had  spoken  from  the  impulse  of  the  moment. 
Should  he  confide  his  griefs  to  his  father,  anil  tell 
him  the  struggle  that  was  going  on  his  mind,  or  should 
he  sit  silent,  and  strive  alone  and  unaided  ?  Should 
pride  conquer,  and  he  lose  the  blessing  of  a  wise  coun- 
sellor, or  should  he  unburden  his  heart  and  tell  his 
perplexities  ?  It  was  a  turning-point,  a  crisis  iu  his 
history.  But  Charles  was  now  in  earnest,  and  he 
nerved  himself  to  meet  his  father's  eye,  as  he 
said — 

"  I  never  can  be  rid  of  my  bad  temper,  sir  !" 

"  Have  you  ever  tried  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  Last  fall,  after  Willie  broke  up  my  bird- 
traps,  and  I  struck  him,  I  could  not  help  thinking 
that  if  I  had  only  the  strength,  I  might  have  been 
like  Cain,  and  killed  my  brother;  and  I  resolved 
that  I  would  fight  against  my  temper,  and  that  I 
would  conquer  it;  but  I  kept  failing,  and  now  I 
have  donejft  worse  thing,  and  for  a  less  cause." 

"Look  here,  Charles;  what  is  this?"  said  Mr. 
Moreton,  stooping  to  the  ground,  and  carefully  re 
moving  some  loose  dirt  that  seemed  thrown  up. 


rilAKLF.S    MORETOX.  185 


Charlie  looked,  and,  with  brightened  face,  ex- 
claimed— 

"  That  is  one  of  my  peach-stones,  that  I  planted 
last  fall  ;  it  has  just  sprouted.  Now  I  shall  have  a 
peach-tree  !" 

"  How  do  you  know  that,  my  son  ?" 

"Because  I  shall  take  care  of  it,  father;  and 
things  that  are  taken  care  of,  almost  always 
grow." 

"  What  care  shall  you  give  it,  Charlie  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Moreton. 

"  I  shall  put  some  little  sticks  around  it,  so  that 
no  one  will  tread  upon  it  or  dig  it  up,  sir.  Then,  I 
shall  keep  the  earth  loose  about  its  roots.  If  it  is 
dry  weather,  I  shall  water  it  every  day ;  and,  as  it 
grows  older,  I  shall  make  the  earth  richer,  and  tic 
it  to  a  stout  stake,  that  the  wind  need  not  break  it 
down ;  and  in  four  years,  or  less,  if  nothing  happens, 
it  will  begin  to  bear  peaches." 

Mr.  Moreton  was  often  in  the  habit  of  inquiring 
into  the  knowledge  that  his  boys  had  gained  in  tin- 
way  ;  and  Charles  saw  no  other  object  in  this  con- 
versation but  an  intention  of  testing  his  ability  to 
take  care  of  a  tree,  and  he  eagerly  talked  on,  endea- 
vouring to  show  that,  as  regarded  the  culture  of 
peach-trees,  nobody  knew  more  than  he ! 

"Is  not  four  years  too  long  to  wait  for  the  fruit?" 
asked  Mr.  Moreton  again. 

"  Why,  no,  father;  four  years  is  a  very  short  time 

16 


186  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


for  a  tree  to  grow.  An  apple-tree  sometimes  takes 
ten,  and  a  pear-tree  as  many." 

"And  are  you  willing  to  wait  four  years  for 
peaches,  working  away  every  summer,  and  not 
being  disheartened;  and  are  six  months  long 
enough  to  discourage  you  about  a  little  resolution 
planted  in  your  heart,  and  to  make  you  ready  to  cry 
out,  '  It  never  will  come  to  any  thing !  I  cannot 
get  rid  of  my  bad  temper !" 

"  A  resolution  is  different  from  a  peach-tree,"  said 
Charles. 

"  Yes,  a  very  different  thing,  and  of  far  more  con- 
sequence to  your  happiness,  my  son ;  yet  their  pro- 
per treatment  may  not  be  so  unlike  in  principle  as 
you  think.  You  will  guard  your  peach-tree,  you 
say;  and  you  must  guard  your  resolution  while  it 
is  young  and  tender.  One  way  to  do  this  is  to  talk 
with  me  about  it,  as  you  are  doing.  Can  you  think 
of  no  other  way  ?" 

"  I  must  ask  Duncan's  pardon,  and  let  him  know 
that  the  resolution  is  planted,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes ;  then,  every  day,  you  must  think  about  it, 
and  repeat  it  to  yourself  as  a  resolution.  But  you 
will  water  your  peach-tree,  and  enrich  the  soil  it 
grows  in !  What  can  you  do  to  make  your  resolu- 
tion increase?" 

"I  must  keep  telling  myself  why  I  ought  to 
keep  it." 

u  Observation  will  quickly  show  you,  Charles,  the 


CHARLKS    MORETOX. 


worldly  adrantagea  to  be  reaped  from  a  quiet,  c» pu- 
bic temper.  You  will  see  that  it  enables  a  man  to 
judge  rationally  and  to  act  consistently.  An  angry 
man  is,  f.-r  the  time,  a  rra/.y  man;  nobody  res}> 
him,  or  is  guided  by  his  wishes.  He  is  liable  to 
commit  acts  i-f  which,  at  other  times,  he  is  heartily 

lined,  and  which  disgrace  his  character  and  mor- 
tify his  :  Then,  what  does  he  gain  by  in- 
dulging iu  hi-  -ut  of  abusive  lan- 
guage may  How  fmm  his  lips;  but  it  lowers  bis  own 

Mlity,    by   showing   the   evil  of  his   h 
more  than  it  alters  public  opinion  regarding  its  ob- 

.  M  ;  and  this  report 

to  1  "  will  cause    him  to  be  shunned  and 

despised,  nulicr  than   admired.      If  1, 
strength,  he  may  even  be  considered  a  /•/////;//•  W/y; 
and  what  is  that  but  a  noisy,,  quarrelsome  fellow, 
who,  by  all  reasonable  people,  is  con>i<lrivd  a  village 
nuisance?     Beyond  this,  there  are  other  reasons,  far 

:htier,  why  you  should  keep  your  resolution. 
Can  you  not  think  what  they  an- '.'" 

"  The  reasons  that  the  Bible  gives,  you  mean, 
don't  you,  sir?" 

"  There  you  find  such  words  as  these  :  i  The  pa- 
tient in  spirit  is  better  than  the  proud  in  spirit;' 

i  bearing  one  another  and  forgiving  one  another, 
if  a  man  have  a  quarrel  against  any  :  even  as  Christ 
forgave  you,  so  also  do  ye ;'  '  The  discretion  of  a 
man  deferreth  his  anger ;  and  it  is  his  glory  to  pass 


188  LIFE   IN    THE   WEST. 


over  a  transgression ;'  ( Not  rendering  evil  for  evil, 
or  railing  for  railing,  but,  contrariwise,  blessing; 
knowing  that  ye  are  thereunto  called,  that  ye  should 
inherit  a  blessing.'  Any  one  of  these  texts,  well- 
remembered,  would  help  your  resolution  to  grow; 
and,  firmly  fixed  upon  the  promises  of  God,  no 
storm  of  life  could  uproot  it.  Then,  to  those  who 
ask  help,  help  is  promised.  You  say  that  you  can- 
not keep  your  resolution.  Remember,  that  he  that 
seeks  the  aid  of  God's  Spirit,  seeks  the  aid  of  a  true 
and  able  friend." 

"  There  is  so  much  to  do,"  said  Charles,  "  before 
ev£ry  thing  is  right  in  a  man's  character." 

"  That  is  true,  my  son ;  but  the  work  once  seri- 
ously entered  upon,  and  earnestly  prosecuted,  the 
difficulties  diminish;  and  now  is  your  planting-time 
in  the  garden  of  your  heart.  You  would  like  to 
have  it  fruitful  and  well  cultivated.  In  order  to 
this,  the  weeds  of  idleness,  impatience,  foolish  pre- 
judice, and  the  like,  must  be  rooted  out.  The  soil 
must  be  enriched  with  knowledge ;  the  seeds  of  in- 
dustry and  good  habits  sown,  and  closely  watched. 
If  the  unsightly  offsets  of  vice  or  error  are  there, 
you  must  not  spare  the  sharp  pruning-knife ;  nor 
must  you  loosen  the  tight-binding  cords  of  prin- 
ciple. All  this  requires  effort  and  watchfulness; 
but  not  greater  than  it  is  in  your  power  to  exercise. 
One  fault  conquered,  is  a  step  towards  the  subduing 
of  the  spirit ;  one  right  habit  gained,  is  an  advance 


CHARLES    MORETOX.  189 


which  opens  the  way  and  smooths  the  path  for 
another.  No  miraculous  power  will  cause  your 
peach-tree  to  grow  in  a  night;  neither  will  any  be 
exerted  to  make  your  resolution  at  once  firm  and 

II 1U  :  .       You  musf  irnrl:  nut  ynnr  Oli'it  .Ww- 

:i;itu-r  ;  c\vry  day  watching  your  reso- 
lution with  fear,  lest  it  may  be  overcome ;  and  God 
will,  if  you  rely  upon  him,  work  in  and  with  you." 

The  breakfast  bell  rang,  and  they  returned  to  the 
house.  Charles's  way  was  now  clear  before  him. 
II  j  •.  -in  easy  nor  a  pleasant  one  to  en 

but  its  end  shone  out  in  bright  relief,  and  hope — 
buoyant  hope — beckoned  him  on.  Cheerful  mirth- 
ful i:  r  long  absent  from.  1.  .  resumed 
its  >  i  reply  to  Willie's  question,  '•  \\  . 
have  you  KTII  '.'"  he  replied,  u  Learning  how  to  keep 
my  resolution." 

Finn  as  that  resolution  was  at  first,  it  was  stag- 
gered a  little,  when,  on  approaching  the  school- 
house,  he  saw  the  boys  drawn  up  in  a  line,  with 
Duncan  Dunwoodie  at  their  bead.  Ob,  how  he 
wished  Willie  was  with  him!  And  then  bow  he 
wished  he  could  let  them  know  his  determination 
not  to  quarrel,  without  telling  them  so  !  But  there 
he  was,  alone,  and  the  bearer  of  bis  own  message. 
As  if  to  test  the  strength  of  that  resolution,  one  of 
the  boys  called  out,  "  Halloo !  black-eye !"  but 
Charlie  repeated  to  himself,  "  He  that  ruleth  his 
own  spirit  is  better  than  he  that  taketh  a  city." 

16* 


190  LIFE   IN   THE    WEST. 


Quickening  his  steps,  he  reached  forth  his  hand  to 
Duncan,  and,  despite  the  choking  in  his  throat,  said, 
loud  enough  for  all  to  hear — 

"  Duncan,  I  did  wrong  to  quarrel  with  you  yes- 
terday. We  will  settle  our  bargain  over  again, 
and  try  to  make  it  right.  I  am  sorry  I  struck 

you !     Will  you  forgive  me,  and  let  us  be  friends 

•    *))> 
again  : 

If  Jack  Sumner  did  say,  "  Coward  !  he  durst  not 
fight !"  and  if  Henry  Brown  did  sneeriugly  turn 
upon  his  heel,  there  were  a  dozen  of  the  boys  that 
rejoiced ;  and  among  them  was  Duncan,  who  really 
loved  Charlie  and  was  truly  glad  to  have  the  fool- 
ish altercation  ended.  lie  readily  took  the  prof- 
fered hand,  and  responded  to  Charles's  declaration, 
"I  don't  mean  to  quarrel  with  any  of  you,  bo\ 
by  adding,  "  And  that  will  make  it  far  pleasauter ; 
for  why  shouldn't  we  all  be  good  friends?" 

As  the  little  sticks  guarded  the  young  peach-tree 
from  harm,  so  did  these  few  words  serve  to  protect 
that  young  and  still  feeble  resolution.  Frum  that 
time,  either  he  had  fewer  provocations,  or,  having 
openly  committed  himself  on  the  side  of  what  was 
right,  he  was  stronger  in  his  purpose  and  power  of 
resistance  to  temptation  in  that  form.  Be  it  which 
it  might,  he  continued  steadfast  and  firm,  persisting 
in  his  efforts  to  overcome  his  besetting  sin,  until  he 
gained  the  victory  over  his  own  passions,  and  was 
master  of  his  own  temper  ! 


CIIAIU.KS    MORETOX.  191 


Charles  was  not  the  only  member  of  Mr.  More- 
ton's  family  who  found  out  that,  at  the  West,  there 
are  manifold  temptations  to  do  wrong.  Kury  one 
has  need  of  the  prayer  taught  by  our  Divine  Master, 
"  Lead  us  not  into  temptation,  but  dcliv-T  us  from 
evil;"  and  to  every  soul,  whatever  its  acquirements, 
comes  the  exhortation,  "Watch  and  pray,  tha* 
enter  not  into  temptation  !"  The  unregenerate 
heart  may  think  that  there  is  no  danger;  that  the 
path  of  life  is  a  path  of  ease;  and  that  its  own 
ngth  is  sufficient  to  meet  every  peril  to  which  it 
may  be  exposed  :  but  how  differently  are  we  taught 
in  the  word  of  God  !  There  we  find  life  set  forth 
as  a  journey,  a  scene  of  probation,  and  we  as  pil- 
grims, whose  walk  here  is  amidst  dangers;  i 
bearing  within  us  an  immortal  treasure,  commi 
to  our  trust  by  the  king  of  that  country  whither  we 
are  journeying.  For  its  safe-keeping  and  its  improve- 
ment each  one  is  responsible;  and,  knowing  our 
kness,  for  each  is  provided  two  able  and  willing 
helpers — Jesus,  the  High-priest,  who,  having  been 
himself  tempted,  is  able  to  succour  those  who  are 
tempted ;  and  the  Holy  Ghost,  the  Comforter. 

To  those  who,  with  wary  steps,  and  careful,  earn- 
est hearts,  are  travelling  on,  there  comes  the  gra- 
cious message,  "  God  is  faithful,  who  will  not  suffer 
us  to  be  tempted  above  that  we  are  able  to  bear;" 
and  far  on,  in  the  distance,  Jesus  holds  up  to  their 
view  the  golden  crown  and  harp,  bidding  them  walk 


192  LIFE    IN    THE    AViiST. 


steadfastly  on  their,  way,  with  that  wonderful  pro- 
mise :  "  To  him  that  overcometh,  will  I  grant  to  sit 
with  me  in  my  throne,  even  as  I  also  overcame,  and 
am  set  down  with  my  Father  in  his  throne." 

The  hidden  evils  of  our  hearts,  our  selfish  <1 
our  grasping  after  earthly  pleasures,  our  low  and 
ignoble  hopes,  even  our  bodies,  with  th.-ir  ajipct! 
are  all  to  be  subdued,  before  the  soul  shines  in  the 
beauty  of  holiness.     Our  senses  must  be  u 
willing  channels  of  none  but  pure  j>!  our 

tastes  must  be  cultivated  to  a  high  appreciation  of 
things  lovely  in  the  sight  of  a  holy  God  ;  while  our 
affections  must  hold  all  earthly  objects  of  love  sub- 
ordinate to  the  claims  of  our  heavenly  Father. 

"Take  us  the  foxes,  the  little  foxes,  that  spoil 
the  vines,"  said  the  wise  king.  Take  us  the  K 
the  little  sins,  that  ruin  the  soul,  we  would  say  to 
every  youth  to  whom  future  character  is  a  matter 
of  interest  or  effort.  It  is  the  little  sins  that  make 
up  the  whole  evil  character,  even  as  drops  fill  the 
rivers,  and  the  rivers  swell  the  mighty  ocean. 
Think  no  failing  too  small  or  too  trivial  to  be 
watched  and  striven  against;  and  let  these  words 
help  you  in  your  struggle :  "  He  that  is  faith- 
ful in  that  which  is  least,  is  faithful  also  in 
much." 

Carelessness  of  personal  appearance^  carelessness 
of  manners,  carelessness  of  words,  and  carelessness  of 
morals, — these  are  all  temptations  in  a  new  country. 


CHARLES    MORETOX.  193 


The  -on  that  prompts  to  unmindfulness  of 

one's  appearance,  makes  a  person  chary  of  their 
words  of  welcome  aud  politeness.  The  temptation 
to  be  witty  leads  to  slang  phrases  and  stories  with- 
out truth,  while  this,  in  its  turn,  blunts  the  percep- 
tion of  what  is  true  and  desirable,  and  the  whole 
moral  man  is  injured.  Little  do  those  whose 
homes  are  guarded  by  Christian  watchfulness 
and  whose  lives  are  passed  amidst  Christian  com- 
munities, surrounded  by  all  the  amenities  and 
jos  of  well-ordered  society,  realize  how  much  of 
their  safety  they  owe  to  these  i  <>r  with 

how  much  reason  they  too  might  say,  "Thou  pre- 

-t  (me)  with  the  blessings  of  goodness  !" 
"  Aunt  Rachel/'  who  has  before  been  introduced 
to  our  readers,  was  quite  a  favourite  with  the 
younger  members  of  the  Moreton  family.  The 
rojuTtfiil  attention  they  paid  her,  and  their  uniform 
kindness  to  her  little  grandson,  who  bore  the  lofty 
name  »•!'  A .</.-/,  had  gained  her  confidence. 

It  was  in  their  power  to  perform  many  small  acts 
of  kindness  for  her,  and  she,  in  her  turn,  was  always 
ready  to  meet  them  with  a  cordial  greeting.  If  they 
stopped  to  pay  her  a  passing  visit  on  their  way  from 
school,  she  often  had  some  little  offering  for  them, 
such  as  a  few  plums,  a  peach,  a  cup  of  maple-sap,  a 
baked  potato,  hot  and  smoking  from  the  hearth,  or 
a  generous  slice  of  johnny-cake,  full  of  dried  whor- 


194  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


tleberries,  which,  with  true  Western,  whole-hearted 
hospitality,  she  urged  upon  them. 

But  the  readiness  with  which  she  met  their  un- 
wearied demand  for  tales  of  adventure  and  of  per- 
sonal history  was  the  great  attraction  which  drew 
them  so  frequently  to  her  cabin.     Her  life  had  1 
full  of  change.     A  comfortable  but  plain  Connecti- 
cut home  had  been  exchanged,  at  the  early  age  of 
eighteen,  for  a  cabin  in  the  woods  of  Mich: 
where,  for  six  years,  she  lived  and  laboured  as  the 
wife  of  a  Methodist  missionary-preacher.     I! 
was  her  first  great  sorrow;  but,  with  two  y" 
children  to  support,  she  had  no  time  to  spend  in 
grief  and  fruitless  mourning.      After  a  struggling 
life  of  two  years  or  more,  she  married  again,  and 
removed  to  Indiana.     Here  her  hu]>}.i 
spent,  though  toil  and  some  hardship  fell  to  her  lot. 
Her  children  left  her  for  homes  of  their  own ;  an  I 
when  her  husband,  Mr.  Whitely,  died,  she 
up  what  property  she  could,  and  left  the  farm  to  the 
care  of  a  tenant,  that  she  might  spend  her  last  years 
with  her  kindred.     Her  son  had  removed  from  his 
first  location,  no  one  knew  whither ;  but  her  daugh- 
ter was  a  resident  in  Lakeland,  and  there  a  cheerful 
welcome  awaited   her.      It  would   seem  that  there 
she  might  find  rest,  but  it  was  not  thus  to  be.    The 
sudden  falling  of  a  tree,  which  her  son-in-law  was 
cutting  down,  so  injured  him,  that,  after  a  year  of 
suffering,  he  died,  and,  in  a  few  months,  his  wife 


CHARLES    MORETON.  195 


him   to  the  grave.      Thus  was  the   little 
grandson  thrown  entirely  upon  her  care ;  and  her 
object  in  life  was  to  keep  the  farm  his  father 
left,  not  only  entire,  but  in  some  order  for  him, 
when  he  should  be  old  enough  to  work  it. 

It  is  easy  to  see  that,  with  an  unimpaired  memory 
and  a  good  deal  of  natural  shrewdness,  Aunt  Rachel 
Whitely  had  at  her  command  a  fund  of  stories  that 
pos>  it  fharms  for  listeners.  One  talc  of  an 

adventure  with  her  first  husband,  when,  in  riding 
through  the  woods,  they  had  encountered,  or  rather 
wildcat,  fierce  and  resolute  to  protect 
its  young  ones,  had  great  attractions  for  Charlie. 
To  be  sure,  it  ended  in  nothing  but  their  beini: 
wonderfully  frightened,  and  whipping  up  their 
horse. to  get  out  of  its  way;  but,  in  his  estimation, 
it  made  her  a  heroine. 

i  she  sometimes  let  her  imagination  take  the 
reins,  and  would  describe  the  beauties  of  the  wood- 
land scenery,  and  the  brilliant  autumnal  nights ;  or 
else  she  invented  personages  and  scenes  in  the  fable 
form,  that  she  might  convey  instruction  to  her  hearers. 

Further  than  that,  she  had  dwelt  three  years  near 
the  royal  hunting-ground  of  Tecumseh,  and  was 
familiar  with  the  traditions  and  legends  connected 
with  his  history,  as  well  as  with  those  of  Pontiac, 
the  famous  Indian  chief.  She  had  herself  received 
frequent  visits  from  parties  of  the  Pottawatimie 
tribe,  and  could  tell  of  dealings  between  them  and 


196  LIFE   IX    THE    WEST. 


her  husband,  and  of  their  sorrowful  countenances  as 
they  began  to  realize  that  they  were  perishing  as  a 
nation. 

Occasionally,  she  would  revert  to  her  own  home- 
experience  ;  and  then  she  would  not  fail  to  mingle 
with  her  narrative  words  of  Christian  love  and  good 
counsel,  and  cheerfully  recommend  trust  in  the 
Almighty  as  the  only  sure  foundation  upon  which 
to  build  happiness. 

Thus  it  was  that  she,  alone,  surrounded  with  the 
evils  of  poverty,  and  possessing  few  attractions  j 
sonally,  was  yet  enabled  to  do  good  in  her  humble 
sphere,  and  to  prove  that  the  Spirit  of  God  can 
refine  and  elevate  the  tastes  as  well  as  comfort  the 
hearts  of  his  lowly  followers. 


LETTERS.  197 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


AGAIN  must  we  have  recourse  to  a  letter  of  Mary's, 
as  the  s}  ;id  most  agreeable  manner  of  in- 

forming our  readers  of  the  .-tute  of  affairs  at  Lake- 
land and  about  the  More  ton  farm,  during  the  third 
year  of  their  residence  at  the  West : 

Lakeland,  October  — ,  18—. 
DEAR  THANK  : — Your  letter,  written  upon  the 

anniversary  of  your  reaching  ,  was  received 

.re.  One  year  of  the  prescribed  j -';///• 
has  passed  away  quickly  enough,  to  make  us  feel 
that  the  three  remaining  will  soon  be  gone;  bu; 
have  not  yet  become  so  accustomed  to  your  absence 
as  to  feel  that  home  is  home  without  you,  and  it 
seems  a  long  time  to  wait. 

You  would  be  surprised  to  see  how  much  our 
place  has  improved.  The  grass,  tbis  year,  entirely 
covered  the  site  of  the  old  log-cabin,  and  the  trees 
bordering  the  carriage-walk  and  about  the  house  were 
sufficiently  grown  to  cast  a  shadow.  The  green 
blinds  upon  the  house,  the  new  barn,  the  arbour  at 


198  LIFE   IN    THE   WEST. 


the  foot  of  the  garden-walk,  and  the  well  at  the  top 
of  the  hill,  with  its  real  old-fashioned  curb,  >• 
against  the  sky,  and  the  new  fences, — tln-so  are  all 
this  year's  improvements,  in  the  true  dictionary 
sense  of  the  word,  as  well  as  in  its  Western  meaning. 
Within  the  house,  the  great  change  has  been  the  ar- 
rival of  Uncle  Alfred's  present — the  new  piano ;  and 
such  a  source  of  pleasure  as  it  is  !  For  a  IV  \\-  i! 
we  made  it  talk  incessantly ;  now,  it  is  not  silent 
long  at  a  time;  and  I  find  I  shall  readily  regain  my 
knowledge  of  playing.  Being  the  first  instrument 
of  the  kind  in  the  village,  it  has  attn  ider- 

able  attention,  and,  I  can  assure  you,  it  is  much  ad- 
mired. I  hope  it  will  be  in  my  power,  through  it, 
to  convey  pleasure  to  many  beside  our  own  circle ; 
if  not,  half  its  charms  will  be  dispelled,  for  the  iden- 
tifying of  ourselves  with  the  village-people,  and  of 
our  pleasures  and  interests  with  tlu-ir's,  i.-,  to  my 
mind,  one  of  the  strongest  ties  which  bind  us  here. 
The  great  occasion  upon  which  I  intended  to  dwell 
in  this  letter,  was  the  approaching  marriage  of  Susan 
and  Richard  Gray.  The  time  fixed  upon  is  the 
20th ;  and,  as  they  will  move  directly  to  his  new 
house  in  the  village,  every  preparation  for  leaving 
us  must  now  be  made.  Their  house  is  small,  but 
new  and  convenient;  Richard  having  aimed  to  make 
it  easy  for  Susan  in  her  household  duties.  The 
wedding  will  be  here,  and  will  be  as  quiet  as  it  can 
be  and  ask  all  the  people  we  have  learned  to  know 


LETTERS.  199 


and  love  in  three  years.  Our  new  minister,  Mr. 
Nesbit.  will  officiate;  and  we  all  rejoice  that  he  has 
arrived  in  time  for  the  ceremony.  We  like  Mr. 
••it;  and  his  wife  we  hope  to  welcome  here  soon. 
They  propose  to  commence  housekeeping  as  soon  as 
a  house  can  be  procured,  when  she  will  come  imme- 
diately with  her  three  children 

I  had  written  thus  fur,  when  Charles  came  in, 
and  called  "Mary!  Mary!"  so  loudly,  that  Iran 
to  meet  him,  fearing  some  accident. 

"Put  on  your  bonnet,  and  come  with  me,  quick  !" 
iid;  which  I  did,  and  followed  him  across  the 
fields  to  the  new  road  leading  to  Lupine  Prairie. 
There  we  i'-iund  a  woman  >itting  by  the  road.-ide, 
holding  in  her  arms  a  dying  baby,  and  another  child 
standing  by  her  side.  The  wagon  in  th  •  r«>ad,  with 
its  chests  and  trunks,  showed  that  she  was  a  travel- 
ler, and  her  moaning  and  sorrowful  ejaculations 
soon  I  her  origin.  She  was  a  Frenchwoman; 

and  I  did  rejoice  most  heartily  when  I  found  she 
could  understand  me;  and  she,  poor  woman  !  in  her 
joy  at  meeting  with  one  who  spoke  her  native  lan- 
guage, took  my  hand  and  kissed  it  again  and  again ; 
then  turned  to  her  "pauvre  enfant"  and  begged 
me  to  help  it.  I  soon  found  that  her  husband  had 
gone  to  the  village  to  get  some  medicine;  but  I  sent 
Charlie  home  for  a  pillow,  and  thought  that,  upon 
it,  we  might  carry  the  baby  as  far  as  the  house. 
Before  he  came  back,  though,  the  poor  little  thing 


200  LIFE    IN    THE    WEST. 


died;  and  when  her  husband  returned,  her  first  parox- 
ysm of  grief  was  subdued,  and  she  was  ready  to  1: 
to  any  proposal  from  us.  They  were  poor,  and  would 
feel  it  no  degradation  to  go  to  a  poor  home ;  while 
to  be  with  those  who  could  understand  her  seemed 
a  great  comfort.  I  thought  of  Pierre  IJonU',  and 
ventured  to  bid  them  drive  the  horses  there,  while 
the  woman  and  I  took  the  shorter  path  through  the 
woods,  she  carrying  the  little  dead  baby  in  her  arms. 
You  should  have  seen  us,  and  listened  to  her  out- 
pourings of  grief,  as,  overpowered  with  emotion, 
she  would  linger  behind  Charlie  and  me,  cast  her- 
self down  upon  the  wayside  bank,  and,  in  accents 
of  tenderness,  talk  to  the  child — address  it  with  en- 
dearing epithets,  as  if  its  ear  were  li.- truing  to  her 
voice  and  its  little  heart  still  beating  in  unison  with 
her's. 

Oh,  it  was  worth  ten  times  the  labour  and  .<tudy 
that  the  knowledge  I  possess  of  French  has  been  to 
me,  to  be  able  to  speak  to  the  sorrowful  heart  of  the 
mourning  woman,  and  to  try  to  comfort  her.  Ma- 
dame Bontd  received  us  as  cordially  as  I  could  desire; 
and,  when  I  left  them,  she  had  taken  the  child  away 
from  its  mother,  stored  enough  of  their  own  po 
sions  in  one  corner  of  the  room  to  make  another 
corner  empty  and  ready  for  the  strangers'  bed  and 
chest,  and  was  cooking  supper  against  the  man's  ar- 
rival. Then  Charlie  and  I  went  home,  to  ask  father 
if  we  had  done  right ;  and  were  glad  to  find  that  he 


LETT!  201 


thought  we  luul.  Ho  went  over  that  evening  with 
me;  ami,  while  he  and  Uonte  made  arrangements  to 
bury  the  baby  in  the  morning,  I  sat  and  talked  to 
the  woman.  They  all  went  away  in  the  wagon,  the 
day  after  the  funeral,  and  we  know  nothing  more  of 
them  si  lire.  It  hardly  seemed  possible  to  me,  when 
I  saw  how  comfortable  Madame  Bonte  made  this 
poor  woman,  that  I  had  ever  gone  to  that  same  hovel 
(for  it  is  nothing  else  now)  to  cure  my  home 
feelings,  by  seeing  some  one  worse  off  than  myself. 
To  set  off  for  "  the  poor  Frenchman's"  was  equiva- 
lent to  a  confession  of  sad  and  desponding  longings 
on  my  part;  but  no  one  but  Susan  knew  it  at  the 
time;  imr  should  I  tell  of  it  now,  if  I  had  occasion 
to  employ  it  as  a  remedy. 

I  must  not  forget  to  tell  you  that  the  new  school- 
house  is  completed  and  occupied.  Mr.  IJlagdeu  is 
still  the  teacher;  but  he  has  now,  in  Susan's  place, 
a  young  lady  whom  we  all  like.  Annie  is  well 
enough  to  go  to  the  school-hou  lay,  and 

the  two  buys  escort  the  two  girls  there  daily. 
After  this  summer,  Charles  will  work  on  the  farm 
during  the  warm  weather,  and  study  only  in  the 
winters. 

We  have  had  quite  an  excitement  here  lately 
about  the  burning  woods.  The  atmosphere  is  often 
smoky,  and  the  hot  air  has  reached  us,  rising  with 
the  gusts  of  wind,  before ;  but,  this  time,  the  red 
and  glary  horizon,  and  the  trees  standing  out  at 

17* 


202  LIFE    IN    THE    WEST. 


night  as  pillars  of  fire,  and  by  day  with  smoke  issu- 
ing from  their  tops,  showed  it  to  be  quite  near  our 
premises.  One  night,  father  and  the  boys  heard 
that  it  was  approaching  a  fenced  field,  full  of  stand- 
ing corn,  and  that  it  had  already  commenced  its 
ravages  upon  some  piles  of  split  rails  that  they  had 
prepared  for  the  winter's  fencing.  We  begged  to 
go  with  them,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 
them  'wht'p  out  fire]  which,  you  know,  is  to  beat 
down  the  burning  grass  with  branches  broken  from 
the  trees;  and  we  girls  helped  kindle  and  keep 
within  bounds  a  lack-firc,  that  father  thought  it 
best  to  have  set.  It  was  all  pleasure  to  us  to 
march  back  and  forth  before  our  burning  strip  of 
grass,  and  turn  its  course  towards  the  heated  forests, 
using  our  verdant  branches  as  if  they  v  *res; 

but  to  one  who  sees  his  best  crop  iu  danger  of  the 
devouring  element,  and  whose  barns  are  in  the 
course  of  its  march,  it  must  be  with  extraordinary 
energy  that  he  works.  Father  says  the  best  way  is 
to  plough  six  or  eight  furrows  about  a  field,  outside 
of  the  fence,  and  that  he  shall  not  again  neglect  to 

doit 

Now,  Frank,  you  must  confess  this  letter  to  be  as 
long  as  even  your  craving  for  news  from  home  can 
desire.  But  Charles  begs  for  the  remaining  half- 
page,  and  I  yield  my  place  to  him. 

Your  loving  sister, 

MARY. 


LETT:  203 


Will  our  readers  have  Charles's  letter?  Ilnv  it 
1-iit  wo  must  premise  that  Charlie  Moreton  was 
not  a  wry  wonderful  scholar  for  a  boy  of  fourteen 
years  of  age ;  and,  if  they  should  find  it  somewhat 
disconnected,  some  of  them  ean  remember,  from 
their  own  experience,  how  hard  it  is  to  write  letters, 
and  will  readily  pardon  its  del 

DEAR  BROTHER  FRANK  : — I  thought  you  would 
like  to  hear  from  me  and  Carlo ;  and  I  write  to  say 

that  I  am  very  well,  but  that  he  is  getting 
lazy.  Henry  says  he  is  too  old  for  any  thing  l>ut  a 
house-dog,  and  that  is  the  reason  why  he  won't  go 
into  the  woods  with  us;  but  I  think  he  is  afraid. 
If  you  see  Bob  Palmer,  you  ean  tell  him  about  him. 
Henry  has  got  a  first-rate  dog.  We  went  out  last 
week,  and  had  the  best  of  lu» 

enough  for  ourselves  for  two  days.  Of  all  the  birds 
we  ever  get,  I  think  prairie-chickens  arc  the  best. 
Oh!  I  must  tell  you  that  Snowball  got  m!r«J  last 
week,  over  in  the  swamp,  back  of  Aunt  Rachel's 
farm.  She  was  missing  two  whole  days  and  a  night, 
and  father  told  us  that  we  must  look  her  up.  We 
found  her  in  a  few  hours ;  or,  I  mean,  Carlo  found 
her.  You  have  seen  cattle  mired,  so  you  will  know  all 
about  this,  when  I  tell  you  that  she  was  very  deep  in 
the  soft  mud,  and  so  exhausted  with  trying  to  get  out, 
that  at  first  we  thought  she  was  dead.  She  seemed 
to  know  Carlo's  bark,  and  tried  once  more  to  move, 


204  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


but  could  not.  With  help,  we  soon  got  her  out; 
but  you  would  never  luivo  known  whose  cow  she 
was,  if  her  white  forehead  had  not  kept  clean.  She 
has  been  steadier  ever  since,  and  has  not  tried  to 
run  away  at  all.  May  be,  it  has  done  her  good. 
I  like  the  new  school-house ;  and  Mr.  Blagden  is 
going  to  make  us  study  hard  this  winter.  I  wish  I 
knew  a  great  deal,  but  I  think  it  is  harder  to  study 
than  it  is  to  work.  Patrick  has  got  over  his  ague ; 
but  he  will  have  it  again,  if  he  isn't  more  careful. 
You  should  see  his  steers !  Young  Pat  is  in  school, 
and  is  a  real  clever  boy.  Father  lets  Willie  and 
me  go  to  mill  by  ourselves  this  year.  Last  week, 
we  took  the  largest  grist  over  that  we  ever  carried, 
because  Susan  must  share  with  us  now.  When  we 
came  back,  we  took  the  new  road,  that  you  and 
Henry  helped  survey  and  lay  out.  The  log-bridge 
is  finished ;  and  you  never  knew  a  better  one,  or 
one  that  gave  a  driver  such  heavy  jolts;  for  the 
earth  has  not  yet  filled  up  between  the  logs,  and 
the  logs  were  very  large.  It  is  a  great  deal  of  work 
to  make  a  road.  I  used  to  think,  before  we  came 
here,  that  they  came  of  themselves,  but  now  I  know 
better.  The  old  horse  is  dead.  Father  bought  a 
rnare  of  Mr.  Johnson,  that  we  can  drive  in  double 
harness;  but  the  reason  that  he  got  her  was  because 
she  was  such  a  gentle  one  for  Mary  to  ride.  It  is 
as  frisky  as  a  kitten,  but  has  no  tricks.  We  call 


her  " Dancing  Molly;"  and  her  mistress,  Mary,  says 

in  riding  now. 

Willie  and  T  run  I  t  >   tlie  village. 

We   have  all  the  errands   t-»  do,   and   have   regular 
times  uf  starting  and  a  depot  for  bundles.   We  t 
no  i  ,  for  we  go  on  our  own  feet,  and  have 

no  accommodations  for  others.     As  it  is  time  for  us 
to  start,  I  must  close  my  letter.     I  hope  you  will 

write  to  me. 

CHARLES. 


203  LIFE    IN    THE   WEST. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    CHURCH    AND    THE    MINISTER. 

MR.  NESBIT,  the  new  minister,  of  whom  Mary 
wrote  to  Frank,  came  to  Lakeland  as  a  missionary. 
He  was  not  a  very  young  man,  and  had  been  settled 
over  a  church  before.  His  appearance  was  prepos- 
sessing, his  manners  agreeable,  and  he  had  receivt  «1 
a  liberal  education.  lie  knew,  beforehand,  the 
varieties  of  character  he  should  probably  come  in 
contact  with,  and  that  he  must  accustom  himself  to 
meet  with  difficulties,  and  expect  to  experience  per- 
sonal inconvenience.  Ili<  salary  was  small;  part 
of  it  guaranteed  by  the  society  under  whose  patron- 
age he  was,  and  part  promised  by  the  people  among 
whom  he  had  come  to  live.  "The  labourer  i- 
worthy  of  his  hire."  Truly  might  this  be  said  of 
him,  for,  with  all  his  natural  and  acquired  abilities, 
he  brought  with  him  a  heart  willing  and  desirous  of 
labour,  a  love  for  the  souls  of  men,  and  a  spirit  so 
earnest  in  the  cause  of  his  blessed  Master,  that  to 
exert  all  his  powers  of  body  and  mind  to  extend  the 
knowledge  of  his  name  was,  with  him,  a  pleasure — 
a  privilege.  How  many  such  are  now  living  and 


THE    CHURCH    AND    THE   MINISTER.  207 

toiling  in  the  wide  Western  woods,  of  whom  the 
wrU   knows  little,  but  who  are  God's  workmen, 

h  in  his  place  helping  to  raise  the  fallen  sou' 
nun,  and  to  lift  their  earth-hound  :iilYvti«>n- 
higher  and  eternal  joys  !  How  many  such  joyfully 
encounter  hardship  and  deprivation,  if  souls  can  be 
1  and  God's  name  be  honoured  !  Their  reward 
is  in  hraven  ;  and  the  last  great  day  can  alone  show 
to  men  the  mighty  influence  wielded  by  these  chosen 
of  the  Lord,  as,  in  weariness  of  bod v,  they 
go  from  place  to  place  to  make  known  the  unsearch- 
able riches  of  God's  redeeming  love — sustained  by 
faith  in  his  promises,  and  1  :i  granted  ac- 

cording to  their  day. 

Tint  all  the  Lakeland  people  gladly  welcomed  the 
arrival  of  a  clergyman  among  th«-m,  our  readers  will 
not  suppose.  Some  were  opposed  to  the  sentiments 
he  sought  to  inculcate ;  others  differed  from  him  in 
opinion  ;  many  cared  nothing  about  religion  and  the 
concerns  of  their  souls;  while  a  few  received  him 
as  the  messenger  of  God,  and  earnestly  sought  a 
blessing  upon  him  and  his  mission.  Yet  nearly  all 
promised  to  contribute  to  his  support :  one  man 
would  give  so  many  bushels  of  wheat ;  another,  po- 
tatoes ;  another,  corn ;  another  "  would  have  a  fine 
young  pig  for  the  minister  in  the  fall ;"  some  few 
had  money;  and  one  or  two  would  give  certain 
amounts  in  groceries  or  store-pay.  Mr.  Blagden 
was  indefatigable  in  his  efforts,  and  undertook  to 


208  LIFE   IN    THE   WEST. 


collect  these  various  things  and  put  them  in  an 
available  shape  for  Mr.  Nesbit ;  so  that,  when  his 
family  arrived,  there  was  every  reason  to  hope  that 
a  comfortable  living  would  be  provided  for  them. 

The  Sunday-school,  now  attractive  enough,  with 
its  fine  library  and  well-conducted  lessons,  to 
gather  within  it  most  of  the  young  people  of  the 
village,  had  been  continued  through  the  whole  of 
the  past  winter. 

No  one,  who  has  not  seen  the  blessed  influence  of 
such  a  Sunday-school  in  preparing  the  way  for  the 
introduction  of  the  stated  ministrations  of  the  gospel, 
can  have  any  just  conception  of  its  importance.  The 
labours  of  those  devoted  men  who  explore  the  des- 
titute places  and  give  to  the  rude  materials  their 
earliest  shape,  cannot  be  too  diligently  employed 
nor  too  highly  valued.  The  regularly-read  sermon, 
with  devotional  exercises,  which  followed  the  ser- 
vices of  the  Sunday-school,  had  formed  the  habit  of 
church-going  among  the  people,  so  that  a  congr 
tion  of  attentive  listeners  was  gathered,  ready  for 
the  ministrations  of  Mr.  Nesbit. 

To  form  a  church,  and  to  have  him  regularly  in- 
stalled over  it,  were  the  first  steps  to  be  taken.  The 
little  band  who  had  before  associated  together,  again 
met,  and  others,  like-minded,  united  with  them,  as, 
in  the  prescribed  order  and  form,  they  renewed  their 
public  covenant  to  be  the  Lord's  servants  hereafter 
and  for  ever.  Some  new-comers,  and  others  who 


THE   CIIVKt  II    AND    THE    MINISTER.  209 


had,  in  former  homes,  taken  vows  of  obedience  and 
love  to  their  Saviour,  but  had  here  (to  their  great 
peril)  hesitated  and  doubted,  now  united  with  them. 
Others  still,  moved  by  the  Spirit  of  God,  for  the 
time  professed  their  faith  in  Jesus,  and  joined 
themselves  unto  his  people;  so  that  a  church  of 
twenty  members  welcomed  Mr.  Xesbit,  as  he  pub- 
licly promised  "  to  live  and  labour  for  them  in  the 
name  of  our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ/' 
not  only  was  he  welcomed — he  was  sust 
bv  their  n  in  all  his  plans.  The 

was  given  to  his  people;  for  he  deemed  the  pr> 
and  strict  observance  of  the  day,  by  public  worship, 
as  i!  n  the  confidence  of  look 

on.     At  other  times,  he  was  ready  t<»  go  into  «,ther 

1  to  the  m-ar  settlements  t«>  j>i 

or  perform  other  ministerial  duties.  Ouee  during  the 
week  did  the  church  gather,  for  social  prayer  and 
praise,  at  his  house — an  engagement  which  no  duty 
in  other  places  was  allowed  to  infringe  upon.  To 
Mr.  Nesbit's  decision  and  regularity  in  meeting  these 
home-duties,  did  he  afterwards  impute  the  feeling 
of  stability  and  trust,  regarding  the  church,  which 
prevailed  in  the  community;  and  which  extended 
into  the  adjoining  country,  bringing,  from  quite  a 
distance,  many  constant  attendants  upon  the  Sab- 
bath services. 

No  doubt  it  had  this  effect;  but  the  consistent  and 
unswerving  devotion  of  his  life  to  the  one  great  ob- 
is 


210  LIFE   IN    THE    WEST. 


ject  of  elevating  the  moral  condition  of  bis  follow 
creatures,  gained  for  him,  in  time,  the  respect  of  all. 
A  well-regulated  life,  a  well-ordered  conversation,  a 
cheerful  reliance  upon  God,  true  benevolence  and 
sympathy  for  man,  and  a  hand  ready  to  help  any  in 
need, — with  these  characteristics,  is  it  wonderful 
that,  in  some  measure,  differences  of  opinion  should 
lessen,  opposition  become  weak,  ill-will  be  forgotten, 
and  jealousies  be  subdued  ? 

When  he  had  been  with  them  but  a  few  months, 
the  proposal  to  build  a  church  was  made.  It  was 
an  advance  upon  their  position,  which  all  agreed 
was  natural  and  desirable.  But  how  should  it  be 
done  ?  Sufficient  subscriptions  in  ready-money  were 
not  to  be  expected  in  such  a  community  as  th 
while  promises,  though  plenty,  could  not  be  made 
available,  unless  put  into  some  reliable  and  substan- 
tial form. 

A  union  church  was  first  proposed.  This  would 
unite  their  means,  and  make  them  better  able  to 
accomplish  the  proposed  end.  Many  thought  this 
the  better  way ;  but  Mr.  Nesbit  was  of  the  opinion 
that,  as  different  denominations  increased  in  num- 
bers and  strength,  so  difficulties  came  in  proportion, 
and  that  quarrels  and  animosities  were  awakened, 
which  no  present  ease  or  good  were  an  equivalent 
for ;  and  that,  therefore,  the  most  desirable  way  for 
them  was  to  have  the  church-property  belong  to  one 
society,  held  together  by  one  common  faith  and  in- 


THE    CIIU1K  II    AN  I>    TIIK    MINISTER.  211 


tcrest.     With  the  responsibility  thus  thrown  upon  a 

.  w.>ukl  come  increased  interest  iu  its  behalf; 
while  they  could  and  should,  with  proper  restric- 
tions, Mj.i-n  their  doors  to  others  at  all  times,  when 
their  own  staU-d  gatherings  would  not  be  interfered 
with.  All  might  thus  be  accommodated,  and  all 
help  t'urni>h  the  means  and  place  suitable  for  their 
object. 

The  matur  was  at  length  decided  upon.  Mr. 
M"ivt"ii  \va>  to  procure  the  plan  and  specifica- 
tions of  a  church,  such  as  they  required.  It  was  to 
be  a  wooden  building,  plain  but  tasteful,  with  pews 
and  a  neatly-finished  pulpit;  and  its  cost  not  to 
exceed  one  thousand  dollars.  This  money  he  was 
to  hiiv  at  as  reasonable  a  rate  of  int.  n>t  as  possible, 
and  was  himself  or  his  heirs  responsible  for  it  by  a 
mortgage  upon  bis  farm  to  that  amount.  A  sub- 
Boription-papQr  was  then  to  be  circulated,  and  as 
much  money  collected  as  the  people  were  ready  to 
give ;  and  (to  their  credit  be  it  told)  there  was  no 
grudging  or  unwilling  hand  among  them.* 

Notes,  payable  in  money,  produce,  or  labour,  were 
received  by  Mr.  Moreton,  to  secure  him  for  the  re- 
mainder of  the  sum  ;  and,  as  he  himself  subscribed 
handsomely  and  freely,  no  jealousy  or  fear  of  being 

*  This  account  of  the  mode  of  obtaining  a  place  of 
worship  falls  naturally  into  the  narrative,  but  is  not  de- 
D    approved  example  in  any  respect 
except  the  energy  and  liberality  which  were  shown. 


212  LIFE   IX    THE 


overreached  was  awakened  in  the  minds  of  any. 
Three  years  was  to  be  the  limit  of  time  for  which 
the  money  was  to  be  loaned,  and  no  note  running 
after  that  time  was  to  be  received. 

When  all  this  was  arranged,  the  work  was  begun. 
To  work  rapidly  is  no  novelty  in  a  new  country;  but 
this  church  sprang  up  as  if  by  more  than  ordinary 
power.  Robert  Moreton,  Mr.  Blagden,  and  Mr. 
Johnson  were  the  acting  committee,  and  devoted 
much  time  and  thought,  as  well  as  labour,  to  it. 
One  man,  with  his  oxen,  came  to  cart  lime ;  ano- 
ther had  a  load  of  wheat  to  take  to  the  market-town, 
and  would  bring  back  lumber;  one  would  give  so 
many  days'  work  in  digging  for  the  foundation j 
and  yet  another  would  contribute  so  many  thou- 
sands of  brick.  When  the  frame  was  ready  to  be 
raised,  nearly  every  man  in  the  village  came  to  work; 
and,  according  to  Western  custom,  the  women  had 
prepared  for  them,  upon  tables  within  the  court- 
house, abundant  refreshment  and  entertainment 
when  the  afternoon's  work  was  done. 

Thus,  "  with  a  willing  mind,"  they  progressed 
and  speedily  finished  their  work.  As  the  year 
passed  on,  and  every  month  saw  notes  redeemed  and 
promises  performed,  Mr.  Moreton  felt  more  strongly 
the  wisdom  of  Mr.  Nesbit's  plan,  and  acknowledged 
it  openly — thus  confirming  others  in  their  good 
opinion  of  their  minister;  while  he  himself  willingly 
relinquished  a  part  of  his  salary,  small  as  it  was, 


THE   CHURCH    AND    THE    MINISTER. 


that  in  such  a  crisis  they  might  not  be  overbur- 
dened. 

The  dedication  of  their  new  sanctuary,  with  the 
ndance  of  all  clergymen  from  adjoining  counties 
and  States  that  would  COMIC;  the  preparation  for 
singing,  and  the  formation  of  a  choir;  the  gathering 
of  the  young  women  to  make  suitable  drapery  and 
cushions  for  the  pulpit;  and,  finally,  the  presenta- 
tion of  a  large  and  beautiful  JJiMe  for  the  mini.-1 
use,  i  but  a  week  before  the  dedication,  from 

a  friend  in  New  York,  who  interested  himself  in 
what  hit  .  Blagden,) — all  these  Wt  I 

'.ikeland. 

Thus  /<///</  »/  th>    \\'nr,I  was  established 

among  them  ; — not  without  effort  and  sacrifice,  nor 
without  some  opposition,  it  is  true;  but  the  success 
was  complete.  In  a  Western  community,  there  is 
a  fair  and  open  field  for  the  spread  of  religious 
truth.  Most  minds  are  prepared  by  experience  of 
life  to  acknowledge  its  uncertainty,  and  the  un>atis- 
fying  nature  of  worldly  pursuits ;  and  the  heart 
craves  a  future  of  promise.  Infidelity  is  not  so 
thoroughly  rooted,  even  in  the  hardened  hearts  of 
those  who  openly  boast  of  it,  that  they  will  not  lis- 
ten to  truth  forcibly  illustrated,  be  it  only  to  gain- 
say it ;  and,  while  they  may  affect  to  despise  fear 
as  unmanly,  and  love  as  too  effeminate  a  passion  for 
men,  yet  the  great  truths  of  the  Bible  will  bear  the 
broad  sunlight  of  investigation,  and  commend  them- 

18* 


214  LIFE   IX   THE   WEST. 


selves  to  their  consciences  as  right,  and  just,  and 
good. 

Practical  wliyion — crrry-day  holiness,  this  it  is 
which  must  win  its  way,  whether  preached  or  prac- 
tised by  the  minister  or  the  humble  follower  of 
Christ.  Its  manifest  power  over  the  life  of  one  will 
influence  the  life  of  another.  Its  control  over  the 
heart  and  life  roll  on  until  the  life  and  heart  of  still 
another  is  reached.  The  traveller  who  JKI-S'-S  through 
village  after  village,  disturbing  the  worship  of  little 
assemblies,  gathered  in  humble  school-houses  or  in 
Sunday-schools,  and  himself  forgets  it  is  God's  day, 
or  flatters  himself  that,  riding  through  the  lonely 
woods,  he  lifts  his  heart  acceptably  to  his  Maker, — 
he  it  is  who  is  wasting  a  treasure  of  influence  com- 
mitted to  him.  The  children  who  see  him,  the 
loiterers  at  the  tavcrn-stqis,  the  stable-boy  who 
feeds  and  grooms  his  horse,  the  family  whose  day 
of  quiet  is  broken, — all  these  remember  him  ;  and, 
in  proportion  to  his  appearance  of  respectability,  so 
is  his  power  to  lessen  their  reverence  for  the  Sab- 
Lath. 

"  I  remember,"  said  a  useful  and  intelligent  wo- 
man, whose  life  was  passed  in  a  Western  village, 
"  one  man  that  stopped  at  my  father's  over  a  Sab- 
bath, when  I  was  about  fifteen  years  old.  He 
seemed  so  surprised  that  we  should  think  two  miles 
far  to  go  to  church,  that  we  all  accompanied  him, 
though  it  was  unusual  for  us  to  do  so.  And  then, 


THE    CHURCH    AND    THE    MINISTER.  215 


when  we  reached  the  log  school-house,  he  seemed  so 
pleased  and  happy,  and  lisU-ned  t<>  what  I  thought  a 
very  dull  sermon  as  if  he  liked  it  and  understood  it. 
But  the  fact  of  his  7,-/i "/'•<*////  /•//  //<"/•/,  and  singing 
witl.  a  hymn  expressive  of  love  to 

Jesus,  made  an  impression  on  my  mind  which  has 
r  been  effaced.  He  was  a  man  in  middle  life, 
healthy  and  well-looking,  evidently  a  man  of  wealth, 
and  thus  in  possession  of  all  I  had  considered  neces- 
sary to  happiness.  But  I  could  not  deny  that  he 
had  ;  •  of  enjoyment  in  religion  that  I  knew 

nothing  about.  His  look,  his  manner,  his  voice,  all 
told  me  this;  beside,  he  knew  th<'  hymn,  and  would 
never  have-  learned  it,  if  he  did  not  like  it.  After 
I  reached  home,  I  got  the  book  and  read  it  over  and 
over.  Then  I  went  to  the  Bible,  to  see  if  there  I 
found  the  same  sentiments.  From  that  time,  I  d 
all  my  interest  in  religious  matters;  and  from  that 
man's  silent  influence  upon  my  own  heart,  I  have 
learned  that  no  imm  Ih-'th  to  him*  (f  nlone. 

The  influence  of  settlers  from  other  and  more  ad- 
vanced States;  their  indifference  towards  the  insti- 
tutions of  the  gospel;  their  disregard  for  its  humbly- 
administered  ordinances ;  their  forgetfulness  of  the 
Christian  covenant  into  which  they  have  entered  in 
other  homes, — are  all  powerful  hindrances  to  the 
work  and  success  of  the  Western  missionary. 
Christians,  so  called,  plant  obstacles  to  the  progress 
of  Christianity,  and  professed  believers  become  a 


216  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


hindrance  to  the  spread  of  the  gospel,  by  their 
ungodly  or  inconsistent  lives  and  actions.  The 
eyes  of  those  who  love  not  the  Saviour  are  not 
blinded,  nor  their  perceptions  dimmed  towards  the 
failings  or  short-comings  of  the  church  of  God; 
neither  are  their  hearts  insensible  to  the  power  of 
example  from  such  a  source.  Let  but  the  influ- 
ence of  all  who  know  the  will  of  God,  and  who  ac- 
knowledge the  excellency  and  divine  origin  of  the 
Scriptures,  be  seen  openly  exerted,  and  we  need  fear, 
for  our  beloved  country,  neither  the  reign  of  super- 
stition, nor  of  open  infidelity.  "  While  men  si 
the  enemy  came  and  sowed  tares  among  the  wheat, 
and  went  his  way."  "  Let  us  not  sleep,  then,  a 
others ;"  but,  each  at  his  post,  wherever  God  may 
appoint,  rouse  ourselves  to  the  great  work  of  />'//// 
good,  that  we  may  do  good ;  heartily  entering  into 
those  great  plans  of  our  Creator  which  are  in  pro- 
gress for  the  redemption  and  salvation  of  a  fallen 
world. 


AW-MILL   AND   DISTILLERY.         217 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE    STEAM    SAW-MILL    AND   THE    DISTILLERY. 

IT  is  unnecessary  for  us,  as  it  would  be  uninte- 

•  ing  to  our  to  enter  into  the  detailed  his- 

t"i -y  of  the  progress  of  improvement  in  the  village 

of  Lakeland.     The  fresh,  new  paint  upon  the  church 

and  school-house  contrasted  too  glaringly  with  the 

worn  colour  and  gray  sides  of  the  court-house,  and 

a  unanimous  vote  was  passed  at  a  county  meeting  to 

the  building  repaired  and  painted,  while  John 

I>ii<lK  y  headed   the  enterprise  of  planting  the  open 

re  in  which  the  three  stood,  with  thrifty  young 

maple-trees. 

Ambition  was  aroused  among  the  people  to  make 
the  village  attractive;  and  streets  were  graded,  decay- 
ed stumps  removed,  fences  repaired,  wood-piles  taken 
to  the  rear  of  the  buildings,  flower-borders  made,  and 
fruit-trees  planted.  Rose-vines  were  seen  clambering 
about  doors  and  windows,  refreshing  the  eye  and 
pouring  out  upon  the  air  their  wealth  of  sweetness. 

Xnw  that  the  school-house  was  pleasant  and 
cheerful,  the  children  were  more  regular  in  their 
attendance,  and  cleanliness  *  and  tidiness  of  dress 


218  LIFE   IX    THE    WEST. 


prevailed,  making  the  effort  to  instruct  more  agree- 
able to  their  teachers  and  more  successful  in  its 
results. 

The  Sabbath,  too,  was  better  observed.  Seldom 
was  a  load  of  wheat  now  brought  to  the  village  on 
that  day.  The  grocery-store  was  never  oprn  to 
customers ;  and  if  parties  were  made  to  go  in  quest 
of  nuts  or  to  gather  cranberries,  they  appointed  some 
week-day,  instead  of  Sunday,  as  the  most  fitting  time. 

We  do  not  intend  to  convey  the  i<  It -a  that  thrre 
was  no  evil  abroad  in  Lakeland  at  this  stage  of  its 
history ;  but  to  show  that  it  was  advancing,  and  that 
changes,  trivial  in  themselves,  and  gradual  imj>r 
ments,  made  up  an  aggregate  of  good  which  was 
perceptible,  and  to  them  important. 

Under  these  combined  influences,  Lakeland  had 
become  a  decidedly  thrifty  Western  village,  so  de- 
sirable as  a  location,  that  some  other  families  had 
removed  there  for  the  purpose  of  educating  tlu-ir 
children,  there  being  greater  inducements  in  other 
respects  for  the  removal.  In  society,  in  schools,  in 
the  establishment  of  regular  divine  worship,  in  in- 
creased facilities  for  reaching  market-towns,  in  the 
improved  mode  of  cultivating  their  lands,  in  the 
planting  of  young  orchards,  and  the  improvement 
in  the  stock  of  their  farms,  one  might  see  the  sure 
tokens  of  advance  in  public  opinion  and  the  more 
general  diffusion  of  useful  knowledge  among  the 
people. 


STEAM    SAW-MILL   AND   DISTILLERY.         219 


It  was  in  the  autumn  of  18 —  that  the  good  peo- 
ple of  Lakeland  were  all  alive  to  two  projects  which 
were  simultaneously  started.  One  of  them  concerns 
our  friend  Robert  Moreton,  and  our  readers  shall  be 
informed  of  its  particulars. 

As  far  back  as  the  building  of  their  own  house, 
the  difficulties  attending  the  transportation  of  lum- 
ber had  been  felt  by  Mr.  Moreton  as  a  serious  ob- 
jection to  locating  there.  Every  new  building, 
whether  public  or  private,  had  brought  the  subject 
up  fn-shly  i''i  -JIM  ussion  between  him  and  his  sons; 
but  their  own  wants  being  supplied,  and  the  press 
of  farm-labour  sufficient  to  occupy  tlu-ir  time  and 
thoughts,  it  had  heretofore  been  but  a  subject  of 
conversation. 

The  time  for  action,  however,  had  now  come. 
llniry.  advanced  in  knowledge  and  with  robust 
health,  had  become  an  able  and  efficient  helper  to 
his  father;  while  Charles,  now  a  well-grown  lad 
of  sixteen,  was  rapidly  developing  strong  fancies  and 
decided  abilities  for  a  farming  life.  Then,  Patrick 
and  his  boy  Pat  were  still  employed  by  Mr.  More- 
ton;  so  that  Robert  rightly  thought  he  was  no 
longer  needed  at  home. 

To  erect  a  steam  saw-mill,  and  to  superintend  its 
operations,  became  the  object  of  his  desires.  To  do 
this,  he  must  have  capital  and  knowledge.  The 
latter,  reading,  thought  and  observation  had  al- 
ready given  him  in  some  degree,  and  a  visit  made 


220  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


to  other  parts  of  the  country  soon  put  him  in  pos- 
session of  its  practical  details. 

The  money  necessary  for  his  object  was  not  so 
easily  attained.  Richard  Gray  was  in  a  sufficiently 
prosperous  condition  to  repay  the  sum  loaned  by 
Mr.  Moreton,  as  Robert's  share  in  his  enterprise. 
This,  with  the  use  of  his  father's  name,  enabled  him 
to  commence  his  undertaking;  while  some  of  his 
townsmen,  sufficiently  alive  to  the  best  interests  of 
the  village,  themselves  came  forward  and  offered  as- 
histain-c,  >hould  it  be  needed,  on  easy  terms. 

The  spot  for  the  location  of  the  mill  had  long 
been  selected.  A  belt  of  timbered  land,  covered 
with  the  magnificent  growth  of  years,  ran  to  the 
east  of  the  village,  and  spread  itself  out  for  a  long 
distance.  This  lay  partly  on  the  farm  belonging  to 
Mr.  Moreton;  and  the  timber  growing  upon  adjoin- 
ing ground  was  easily  procurable  from  those  who 
were  anxious  to  have  their  best  farming-land  cleared. 
This,  of  itself,  was  sufficient  inducvnient  to  place 
his  mill  there ;  but  the  gift  of  the  land  from  his 
father,  and  the  abundant  supply  of  water  near  by, 
seemed  to  make  it,  without  doubt,  the  best  place  for 
him. 

Beaver  Lake  was  the  name  of  the  small  pond 
upon  whose  banks  he  broke  ground  for  the  founda- 
tion of  his  buildings. 

A  never-failing  spring,  of  considerable  -depth, 
appeared  to  have  overflowed  its  bounds,  and  spread 


VW-MILL   ANDgOlSTILLERY.         -ll 

^J 

itself  between  the  gently-slopBg  hills  that  lay 
around  it,  the  clear  waters  of  which  bathed  the  fresh 
H  that  grew  quite  down  to  its  edge,  leaving  nei- 
ther swamp  nor  sedgy  land  upon  its  borders.  What 
had  undoubtedly  been  its  natural  outlet  was  now 
closed  by  an  over-grown  beaver-dam,  deserted  many 
n  before  by  its  amphibious  inhabitants,  but  still 
bearing  marks  of  their  ingenuity  in  constructing  a 
home;  while  the  waste-water  had  forced. for  it 
another  channel  upon  the  opposite  side ;  there, 
meeting  with  descending  land,  it  ran  gayly  on,  lik 

Bhrer  thread  in  width,  but  rapid  in  its  coi: 
until  it  i  ith  the  current  of  a  river  and 

was  lost  to  the 

"Too  beautiful  a  spot  to  spoil  with  a  mill. 
Mary  ;  Imt  the  West  is  full  of  such  beautiful  spots, 
where  Nature  has  been  lavish  of  her  favours,  and 
scattered  her  gifts  with  a  liberal  hand  :  an<l  even 
her  dfvotr.l  admirer,  Mary,  yielded  the  point,  that, 
in  an  utilitarian  sense,  none  could  be  better  adapted 
to  Robert's  object  than  this. 

To  work,  then,  he  went,  favoured  by  an  early  fall 
of  snow,  that  made  it  easy  to  transport  from  other 
and  more  distant  towns  the  necessary  materials  for 
his  use.  As  far  south  as  the  Moreton  family  lived, 
sleighing  in  the  winter,  although  uncertain  in  its 
duration,  is  highly  prized.  The  leisure  of  winter 
gives  time  for  the  taking  of  produce  to  market, 
while  a  smooth  and  even  road  made  by  the  fall  of 


19 


222  LIFE   IN    THE   WEST. 


snow  presents  families,  that  even  a  dweller  in  an 
old  country,  where  highways  and  turnpikes  are 
known,  docs  not  despise.  Robert's  mind  was  of 
the  systematic  order.  His  plans  were  thoroughly 
made  and  considered,  and  all  his  arrangements  were 
the  result  of  mature  thought;  while  his  mechanical 
education  had  fitted  him  to  meet  emergencies  with  a 
ready  hand  and  a  quick  wit.  Thus  it  was  that  he 
was  able  to  accomplish  his  object  so  successfully. 
The  same  power  that  was  used  to  drive  his  I 
was  also  made  to  work  a  run  of  stones  for  the  grind- 
ing of  wheat;  thus  obviating  the  necessity  which 
had  existed  among  the  villagers  of  going  a  greater 
distance :  and  the  whole  was  in  operation  the  follow- 
ing summer,  with  a  good  prospect  of  soon  paying 
for  itself,  and  afterwards  yielding  a  fair  income  to 
its  owner. 

But  another  work  of  nearly  equal  magnitude  was 
started  at  the  same  time  with  the  saw-mill,  and  pro- 
secuted with  equal  ardour.  This  was  the  erection 
of  a  distillery,  under  the  superintendence  of  John 
Thomas,  the  eldest  son  of  Mr.  Thomas,  the  lawyer. 
His  means  were  more  ample  than  Robert's,  and  the 
speed  with  which  he  accomplished  his  purpose  was 
wonderful,  even  at  the  West.  The  abundant  har- 
vest of  the  first  year  brought  the  price  of  grain  so 
low,  that  great  profits  were  to  be  made  on  whisky, 
and  purchasers  were  not  wanting.  A  feeling  of 
rivalry  or  jealousy  spurred  young  Thomas  on;  to 


STEAM    SAW-MILL   AN  DISTILLERY.         *2'2:i 


make  i_ri  to  eclipse  ^J^rt  Moreton  in  the 

perfection  of  his  arrangements  and  the  amount  of 
business  done.  I\nl>ert  \vas  human,  and  it  is  no 
•wonder  that  he  felt  uneasy,  and  sometimes  disturbed, 
by  the  apparent  success  of  his  neighbour,  or  that  he 
sometimes  wished  tor  greater  means  uf  extending  his 
busi; 

••  •  Nefwhaato,  never  rest/  "  said  Mr.  Moreton  to 
him,  one  evening,  as  he  heard  Robert's  account  of  a 
large  order  received  by  John  Thomas  for  pi 

haste,  n  .'  and  you  will 

;iit.  Wore  you  as  old  as  I,  Robert,  you 
would  have  learned  better  than  to  allow  y«'iir  feel- 
ings to  1.  •  d  because  your  neighbour  is  pros- 
pering. Candidly,  with  all  his  apparent  success, 
wmild  you,  to-day,  exchange  phuvs  with  him  '.'*' 

was  the  hearty  response  of  Robert. 
"  I  would  rather  be  a  poor  man  all  my  days  than 
furnish  ;  -  of  ruin  to  one  of  my  fellow- 

creatu 

"But,"   said  Mr.  Moreton,  willing   to  try  him 

further,  "  young  Thomas  sells  whisky  only  by  the 

quantity,  and  thus  evades  the  name  and  undesirable 

fame  of  Her.     He  is  a  manufacturer,  and 

a  drunkard  is  never- to  be    seen  on   his  premises. 

n  hear  that  he  will  have  none  but  temperate 

for  him ;  and  he  himself  never  tastes 

hi-  »>wn  whisky  !" 

much  the  worse,  father/'  said  Charles,  who 


224  E    IN    THE    WLST. 


was  listening  to  mis  conversation;  "for  he  thus 
acknowledges  the  evil  of  intemperance" — 

"And  shifts  the  responsibility  upon  others,  while 
he  pockets  the  profits  of  his  establishment,"  added 
Robert.  "  But,  where  he  stands,  it  is  impossible  to 
meet  him  with  any  proof  of  his  doing  wrong.  When 
Mr.  Bradley  told  him,  last  week,  that  he  was  making 
drunkards  by  wholesale,  while  poorer  men  made 
them  so  by  retail,  he  answered,  that  i  the  appetite 
was  there,  and,  if  he  did  not  supply  its  cravings, 
others  would ;'  and  even  added,  that  '  it  was  better 
to  give  them  yood  whisky  than  poor,  poisoned  stuff, 
that  was  not  fit  to  drink  !'  " 

"  By  such  arguments  he  doubtless  satisfies  him- 
self," replied  Mr.  Moreton;  "but  the  end  is  to  come, 
lie  may  accumulate  riches — every  thing  now  seems 
i  »  favour  it;  but  the  influence  which  goes  out  from 
that  establishment  one  would  not  wish  to  be  respon- 
sible for.  Ten  years  from  now,  we  shall  be  better 
able  to  judge  of  its  amount,  as  well  as  of  his  success. 
Meantime!  let  us  remember  the  words  of  David: 
(  Be  not  thou  afraid  when  one  is  made  rich,  when 
the  glory  of  his  house  is  increased ;  for,  when  he 
dieth,  he  shall  carry  nothing  away,  his  glory  shall 
not  descend  after  him.'  In  the  choice  of  an  em- 
ployment, as  well  as  in  the  care  of  our  hearts,  it  is 
well  to  have  this  '  testimony,  that  it  pleases  God  •/ 
and  those  professions  and  callings  of  which  this  can 
be  said  are  so  abundant,  that  we  need  not  resort 


STEAM    SAW-MILL    AND    DISTILLERY. 


225 


to  unlawful  pursuits  to  gain  a  livelihood  or  to 
insmv  a  competence.  As  you  caunot  hope  to  influ- 
ence John,  let  him  and  his  success  alone.  It  is  not 
to  interfere  with  your  prosperity.  Keep  the  end 
steadily  in  view  when  we  must  all  give  an  account 
;it  us  by  our  Maker;  and  be 

sure  that  your's  are  exercised  in  such  a  way  that  the 
bodies  and  soul<  «f  your  fellow-men  are  not  thereby 
injured,  if  you,  at  the  close  of  life,  would  look  1 
with  j«»y;  and  not  with  grief." 


19* 


226  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

WILLIE  MORETON'S  DEATH. 

HITHERTO,  we  have  had  to  record  only  the  pros- 
perity and  blessings  which  had  attended  the  course 
of  the  Moreton  family.  The  minor  ills  to  which  all 
are  liable,  and  the  infirmities  of  body  from  which 
none  are  exempt,  had  sometimes  visited  them.  The 
same  causes  which  had  destroyed  the  crops  of  other 
farmers  had  operated  unfavourably  for  their's ;  and 
the  fluctuations  in  the  prices  of  staple  commodities 
they  had  felt  as  others  did :  but  their  history,  on 
the  whole,  had  been  one  of  mercy,  and  gratefully 
did  they  acknowledge  the  guiding  and  protecting 
hand  of  Providence. 

The  ensuing  summer  brought  with  it  a  sad  change. 
The  prevalence  of  a  fever,  contagious  in  its  nature, 
and  often  fatal  in  its  attacks  upon  the  young,  was 
felt  throughout  that  portion  of  country.  Unknow- 
ingly, Willie  Moreton  was  exposed  to  it,  and  for  days 
suffered  all  the  agonies  of  its  worst  form,  while  his 
mind  wandered  in  delirious  imaginings.  Oh  !  how 
anxiously  was  he  watched,  how  tenderly  nursed  by 
his  fond  mother,  who,  forgetful  of  self  in  the  care 


WILLIK  MOUKTOX'S  DEATH. 


for  his  safety,  would  allow  none  but  Mary  to  help 
her  in  her  labour  of  love  !  Those  nights  of  wake- 
fulness;  those  days  of  tender  ministration  to  his 
wants;  those  gentle  words  of  love  and  sympathy, 
whose  tones  were  felt,  even  when  their  import  was 
not  understood ;  above  all,  those  earnest  prayers  for 
submission  to  the  divine  will,  and  for  willing  aajui- 
escence  in  whatever  tlu'ir  heavenly  Father  should 
order, — who  but  those  who  know  a  mother's  heart, 
and  wh<>  have  dwelt,  both  in  health  and  sickness, 
in  trouble  and  joy,  beneath  the  l>eannii_:  light  of  a 
mother's  love,  can  tell  ?  The  full  fountain  of  sym- 
pathy which  was  opened  for  them  in  the  hearts  of 
re,  the  ready  acts  of  friendship,  and  the  willing 
lu-lp  which  was  at  their  disposal,  all  showed  the 
strong  hold  which  they  had  upon  the  affections  of 
.rhbours.  B  nds 

had  cause  for  anxi  own 

d\v  ;d  some,  who  had  laid   l-^vd  ones  in 

their  last  narrow  beds,  came  to  proffer  help  f»r 
the  invalid,  hoping  that  their  f  re  to 

the  disease  might  prove  a  sufficient  reason  with 
Mrs.  Moreton  for  employing  their  services,  while 
she  sought  necessary  rest. 

"What  a  change  came  over  that  family  group,  as 
they  realized,  from  their  own  experience,  fur  the 
first  time,  their  slender  hold  upon  life  !  With  what 
tenderness  did  they  gaze  upon  each  other,  as  they 
felt  that  they  knew  not  who  should  next  be  laid 


228  LIFE    IN    THE    WEST. 


low,  beneath  the  withering  hand  of  disease  !  How 
gently  did  they  speak,  how  patiently  bear  the  small 
mistakes  or  infirmities  of  brother  or  sister !  How,  day 
by  day,  did  they  comfort  each  other  with  words  of 
hope,  which,  their  own  hearts  whispered,  were  feeble 
to  soothe  !  How  their  own  desires  went  up  in  silent 
petition  to  God,  to  look  upon  them  in  their  sorrow 
and  to  grant  them  healing  mercies  ! 

Then  Alice,  the  darling  of  their  hearts,  sickened, 
and,  for  days,  she  too  was  dangerously  ill.  Never, 
until  now,  had  they  felt  how  dear  they  were  to  < 
other — how  their  lives  were  entwined  together  in 
loving  bonds,  and  their  happiness  dependent  upon 
the  happiness  of  the  whole. 

But  Willie  was  never  more  to  take  his  place  in 
their  family  circle.     From  the  first  attack  of  illi 
his  case  had  been  deemed  nearly  hopeless,  both  by 
Dr.  Mason  and  his  mother.      Watchful  nui>inir  and 

D 

efficient  care  only  served   to  prolong  his  life  a  few 
days  more  upon  earth,  and  then  he  closed  his  w< 
eyes  upon  the  world  and  slept  his  last  sleep. 

Reason  was  granted  him  in  that  last  hour  of  life. 
Feeble  and  faint  the  vital  current  moved  in  his  veins. 
He  awoke  from  a  disturbed  slumber  to  recognise  his 
beloved  mother  bending  over  his  pillow  with  mater- 
nal tenderness.  The  change  which  she  saw  in  his 
countenance,  her  experience  too  truly  told  her,  was 
the  change  of  approaching  death.  Silently  she  sum- 
moned to  his  side  father,  brothers,  and  sisters,  each 


TYILLII:  M«u;ETn.\f.s  DEATH.  229 


of  whom  he  recognised  with  looks  of  love  and  faintly- 

.11    w.'rds.       Their   tearful  eyes   and  saddened 

med  to  grieve  him,  and,  as  he  asked  for 

"dear  Ally,"  and  was  t<»ld  how  very  sick  >he  was, 

_«>  of  affection  to  her  and  Frank. 

Then,  looking  in  his  mother's  face,  he  earnestly  re- 

if  to  comfort  her — 

"  You  know  I  love  Jesus !     You  know  I  love 
Saviour  !'' 

It  in  grayer  by  that  dying  bedside.  In 
faith  did  those  parents  again  yield  up  the  beloved 
ehil  i  surrendering  themselves,  with  all  that 

;  )  his  sovereign  disposal,  and  asking 
for  themselves  unwavering  submission  and  eariioi 
tru.-t  in  his  love.  The  dying  one  they  commended, 
oh,  how  fervently!  to  the  Saviour  fur  whom,  with 
his  fleeting  breath,  In-  had  avowed  his  love,  beseech- 
ing him  to  place  beneath  him  his  everlasting  arms, 
;  him  in  this  his  time  of  need,  and,  when 
ild  be  freed  from  his  weary  and  perish- 
ing body,  to  bear  him  to  that  world  of  Lrl«ry  \\ ' 
he  might  eternally  dwell  with  angels  and  saints,  and 
with  Jesus  himself,  the  Saviour,  the  Redeen 

For  the  further  comforting  of  the  departing  soul, 
Mr.  Moreton  repeated  portions  of  God's  word  : 
"  Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the 
!ow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil,  for  thou  art 
with   me ;    thy   rod   and    thy  staff,    they    comfort 
me." 


230  LIFE    IN    THE    WEST. 


"  And  they  remembered  that  God  was  their  rock, 
and  the  high  God  their  Redeemer/' 

"  For  God  so  loved  the  world,  that  he  gave  his 
only-begotten  Son,  that  whosoever  believeth  on 
him  should  not  perish,  but  have  everlasting  life." 

"  Lord,  I  believe ;  help  thou  my  unbelief." 

"  Into  thy  hands  I  commit  my  spirit :  thou  hast 
redeemed  me,  0  Lord  God  of  truth." 

"  Precious  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord  is  the  death 
of  his  saints." 

Thus,  upon  the  ear  of  Willie,  fell  the  sound  of 
God's  precious  word,  until  that  ear  was  dull,  and  the 
eye,  wont  to  beam  with  affection,  was  dimmed  with 
the  shadow  of  death.  A.s  they  looked  upon  (1 
features,  lately  so  bright  and  joyous  with  the  sunshine 
of  a  loving  heart,  now  fixed  and  mutin:  :ln-y 

viewed  the  stiffened  form,  which  they  had  • 
active  and  buoyant;  as  they  remembered  the  plea- 
sant voice  and  words,  now  hushed  in   n» -\* -r-tn -he- 
broken  silence;  as  they  recalled  his  many  little  acts 
of  kindness  and  of  self-denying  love, — it  s« 
if  the  blessed  gift  of  memory  itself  would  turn  trai- 
tor to  their  happiness — using  the  remembrance  of 
past  pleasures  to  heighten  the  present  grief. 

What,  then,  could  give  them  comfort?  Upon 
what  can  the  afflicted  heart  rest,  when  earthly  joys 
and  earthly  hopes  are  taken  away?  The  promises 
of  God's  word;  and  upon  these  only  could  our  sor- 
rowing friends  rely.  Willie's  appeal  to  his  mother — 


WILLIE    MORKTOX'S    DEATH. 


"You  know  I  love  Jesus" — so  emphatically  iitt 

the    connecting   link    between    his    soul    and 

o 

thrir's.     A  life  free  from  open  sins,  they  thought 

his  to  have  been,  but  they  knew  that  faith  in  Jesus 

the  only  plea  which  sinful  man  could  make  at 

the  throne  of  God;  and  these  remembered  words, 

\iiiii  of  trust  and  confidence  as  well  as  of  love, 

lingered  in  their  memories,  soothing  their  grief  and 

mitL  ir  sorrow,  as  they,  with  them,  recalled 

that  word,  "  V  r  believeth  on  him  shall  not 

be  ashamed."* 

same  promises  they  were  also  consoled, 
when,  accompanied  by  neighbours  and  frit-i 
bore  his   body   to    the    village    burial-ground  and 
t  until  the  resurrection-day.     To 
:  out  some  quiet  retreat  upon  his  own  land,  wl. 
it  minlit   silently  repose  near  them,  was  the  iii>t 
thought  «.f    Mr.   Moreton.      But   he  had  oonfc 
live  and  die  with  his  fellow-men,  and  where  tli«  y 
were  buried,  there  should  he  and  his  be  laid.     Nor 
did  he  regret  this  decision,  as,  around  that  <»JM-U 
grave,   he   saw   the  countenances   of  sympathi, 
acquaintances  and    witnessed  their  sorrow  in   his 
sorrow. 

A  few  words  of  consolation  to  all  mourning  hearts 
were  spoken  by  Mr.  Nesbit,  a  hymn  sung,  and  then 

*  Rom.  x.  10. 


232  LIFE   IN    THE   WEST. 

friendly  hands  lowered  the  coffin  into  the  earth,  and 
all  silently  withdrew. 

But  where  was  Susan  Gray,  in  this  time  of  trouble  ? 
She,  too,  sat  by  the  side  of  the  sick ;  but  it  was  in 
her  own  house,  and  it  was  her  only  child  to  whom 
she  ministered.  Now  nearly  two  years  old,  it  had 
become  an  endeared  member  of  their  circle,  winning 
their  hearts  with  its  infantile  charms  and  expand- 
ing rapidly  in  intelligence  and  physical  growth. 

It  was  spared,  after  a  struggle  with  diseaM  and  bo- 
dily suffering  scarcely  less  to  be  dreaded  than  death 
itself,  and  lived  to  be  a  further  source  of  joy  to  its 
parents  and  to  all  at  the  farm.  Alice,  too,  recovered, 
but  her  recovery  was  slow;  and  they  received  her 
once  more  to  their  fireside  circle  only  as  the  first  frosts 
of  autumn  were  gorgeously  tinting  the  forest-trees. 
As  she  took  her  accustomed  place  near  her  mother's 
chair,  they  remembered  more  vividly  the  departure 
of  one  who  would  never  return ;  but  no  heart  was 
ungrateful,  or  forgetful  that  God,  in  sending  chas- 
tisement, had  mingled  mercy  with  it;  mercy  in 
staying  the  ravages  of  death  and  mercy  in  their 
hope  for  the  happiness  of  Willie. 


THE  SEQUEL. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

T\vo  years  after  the  date  of  our  last  chapter,  a 
wagon  drawn  by  a  fine  pair  of  horses  might  be  seen 
ing  from  a  country-inn,  in  the  vicinity  of  Lake- 
land. 

"  Only  ten  miles  farther/'  said  the  young  man 
who  was  acting  as  driver,  "and  the  road  good  all 
the  w- 

u  Which  last  sentence  could  not  be  added,  Ro- 
bert, when  you  and  I   passed   this  way  together, 
years  and  a  half  since." 

answered  Robert.  "Your  five 
years'  absence  has  given  time  for  great  improve- 
ments, Frank.  Five  years  at  the  "\Vest  are  e<|ual 
to  twenty  in  Xew  England,  in  marked  external 
change." 

"  I  shall  not  complain,  if  the  alteration  does  not 
affect  people  as  well  as  places." 

"  Xor  should  you,  if  it  did,"  said  an  elderly  gen- 
tleman, who  sat  by  Frank's  side ;  "  for,  if  I  mistake 
not,  the  Frank  Moreton  who  left  the  West  to  go  to 
college  does  not  look  exactly  like  the  ' Kquirc  More- 
ton  that  is  coming  back." 

237 


238  LIFE    IN    THE    AVEST. 


"You  arc  right,  Dr.  Newton;  and,  if  they  don't 
know  me  at  home,  I  shall  rely  upon  you  to  intro- 
duce me,"  responded  the  younger  man,  laughingly. 

"  Only  see  that  forest  of  girdled  trees  !"  said  Dr. 
Newton.  "  What  a  sad  sight !  It  looks  like  an 
army  of  skeletons;  and  this  breeze,  that  rocks  their 
dry  arms,  makes  them  more  hideous  still." 

It  was,  indeed,  a  wild  landscape,  and  calculated 
to  arrest  the  eye  of  a  stranger.  They  had  passed 
fields  in  all  stages  of  cultivation :  some  spotted  with 
stumps  of  trees  so  thickly,  that  there  was  little  room 
for  the  plough  or  the  spade  —  others  free,  and 
stretching  out  a  broad  expanse  of  smooth,  1 
land,  rich  and  fertile;  they  had  ridden  for  niih.-s 
through  woodland  covered  with  gigantic  trees,  at 
whose  roots  grew  an  impenetrable  mass  of  underwood, 
and  around  whose  hoary  trunks  were  clinging  tendrils 
of  wild  vines,  full  of  crimson  berries;  they  had  started, 
from  the  forest-coverts,  partridges  and  quails  innume- 
rable ;  had  watched  the  wild-ducks  fluttering  about 
the  margin  of  ponds ;  had  seen  the  nimble  squirrels 
almost  fly  at  their  approach;  and  had  often  come 
unexpectedly  upon  some  farm-house,  set  down,  Jike 
a  whip-poor-will's  nest,  all  alone  in  the  woods. 

All  these  gave  evidence  and  bore  the  impress  of 
life  and  activity.  But  not  so  the  girdled  field.  The 
ground  was  half-cleared,  the  underbrush  all  rooted 
out  and  the  plough  had  passed  more  than  once 
through  the  earth.  Perhaps  three  years  had  passed 


CONCLUSION. 


since  each  tree  had  had  the  fatal  mark  set  upon  it ; 
and  yet  they  stood  in  all  their  former  magnitude, 
but  dead,  throwing  out  their  leafless  and  whitened 
branches,  that  creaked  with  a  hollow  sound  as  they 
waved  to  and  fro  in  the  wind.  There  were  scat- 
tered branches  lying  upon  the  earth;  and,  occasion- 
ally, one  weaker  than  its  neighbour,  leaned  heavily, 
their  boughs  locked  together  and  together  waited 
the  shock  of  the  tempest  that  would  uproot  them, 
.ore  desohi-  <>uld  not  be  imagined;  and 

the  more  so,  because,  around  it  and  upon  the 
oarth  in  which  they  stood,  there  was  full  and  luxu- 
rianf  i),  as  yet  untouched  by  frost  or  wintry 

blight. 

.  gazed  upon  it  as  they  slowly  passed  along. 

"  It  is  a  murderous  practice  and  a  slovenly  one, 
too/'  said  Robert;  "  but  the  farmer  who  has  little 
mon  >  if  wind  and  sun,  tempest  and  ; 

mu>t  be  mi  ployed  as  his  servants;  and  the  marks 
of  each,  as  a  labourer,  can  be  seen  there." 

"Be:.  i  l-'rank,  on  a  guide- 

board  that  stood  at  the  angle  of  two  roads.     "  How 
far  to  your  mill,  llobert,  from  this  high\. 

"  Less  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  We  are  earlier 
than  they  will  look  for  us  at  home ;  what  say  you 
to  a  turn  which  takes  you  out  of  your  way  that 
distance  ?" 

'hing,  but  that  I  should  like  it,"  said  Dr. 

Newton ;  and  in  a  few  minutes,  they  were  in  hearing 
20* 


240  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


of  its  saws;  and  in  a  few  minutes  more,  stood  within 
its  walls. 

Robert  took  them  about  its  precincts,  showed 
them  its  machinery  and  its  manner  of  working,  and 
then  went  with  them  to  another  apartment,  where 
two  men,  covered  with  flour,  moved  industriously 
about. 

"  Well,  Bonte*,"  said  Robert,  "  are  you  at  work 
on  the  new  wheat  to-day,  as  I  directed  ?" 

"  Yes,  sare." 

"And  the  alterations  we  made,  do  they  work 
well?" 

"  Yes,  sare ;  he  go  nicely." 

"Is  that  your  'poor  Frenchman?'"  asked  Dr. 
Newton. 

"  Yes,  sare"  replied  Robert ;  "  and  he  go  / 
too,  since  he  came  here.  You  know  he  was  a  tinker 
by  trade,  and  strolled  about  the  country,  mending 
tin-pans  and  doing  odd  jobs,  for  which  he  received 
little  or  nothing.  When  this  mill  was  building,  he 
applied  for  work,  and  he  really  showed  so  much  me- 
chanical skill,  and  was  so  ha?ut?/j  (as  the  Yankees 
say,)  that  I  have  kept  him  in  my  employ  constantly, 
advancing  him,  as  he  is  competent,  to  more  respon- 
sible posts.  He  has  been  honest  and  sober ;  and, 
while  he  himself  adheres  to  many  French  ways  that 
we  do  not  consider  praiseworthy  or  desirable,  his 
wife  and  children,  with  their  regular  and  extended 
means,  have  kept  up  with  the  tide  of  improvement, 


•  V  241 

having  become  cleanly  and  tidy  in  their  personal 
habits ;  and  his  oldest  son  and  daughter  are  among 
Mr.  Blagden's  best  pupils;  the  boy  is  even  studying 
Latin  and  mathematics." 

They  left  the  mill,  and  stood  among  piles  of 
boards,  planks  and  bundles  of  shingles. 

"These,"  said  Robert,  pointing  to  some  fine  black- 
walnut  logs,  "are  only  squared  off,  and  ready  to 
send  East.  We  find  a  ready  market  for  them  there. 
Pine-wood  we  bring  back,  for  our  white-wood  is  too 
sensitive  to  changes  of  temperature  to  take  its  place 
entirely,  unless  we  use  paint  more  freely  than  most 
of  us  can  afford.  These"  (pointing  to  a  lot  of  boards) 
"  are  sold,  and  so  are  these." 

k  had  left  them,  and  was  talking  earnestly  to 
some  one  who  seemed  an  acquaintance. 

"  Ah,  Frank  !  and  so  you  and  Revere  knew  each 
other,  did  you  ?" 

"That  we  did,"  said  Frank;  "and  I  am  right 
glad  to  see  him  here." 

:  1  I  to  be  here,"  said  Revere. 

Thomas  Revere  was  an  important  personage  now 
in  the  affairs  of  the  Beaver  Lake  mill.  With  great 
effort,  he  had  broken  off  from  his  farmer  companion- 
ship ;  and  though  in  that  struggle  he  had  suffered,  yet 
he  came  off  victorious  over  his  own  appetite,  and  had 
remained  firm  thus  far.  His  former  intellectual 
standing  no  habits  of  sobriety  could  restore;  neither 
could  abstemiousness  repair  the  shattered  bodily 


242  LIFE    IN    THE    WEST. 


vigour.  The  vacant  eye  and  the  trembling  hand, 
the  frequent  indisposition  and  the  fits  of  despond- 
ency, all  betrayed  the  sad  inroads  that  had  been 
made  by  intemperance. 

But  Robert  met  him  as  a  man  :  sympathized  with 
him  in  his  efforts;  was  not  discouraged  if  he  once 
or  twice  failed;  he  assisted  him  in  the  settlement 
of  his  affairs  with  his  creditors ;  saved  for  him  some 
little  personal  property  from  the  grasp  of  the  rum- 
seller;  procured  board  for  him  in  a  good,  plain 
family ;  and,  finally,  gave  him  employment  which 
was  constant  and  remunerative. 

"  Are  you  going  to  take  into  your  establishment 
all  the  poor  fellows  in  the  country?"  asked  Frank. 

"  Willingly,  if  they  would  do  me  as  good  .*. 
as  Revere/'  answered  Robert.  "I  enjoy  much  in 
his  society,  for  he  is  a  shrewd  man,  and  his  know- 
ledge is  of  advantage  to  me.  He  is  my  book-keeper; 
he  measures  my  lumber  and  prepares  it  for  trans- 
portation; he  pays  my  workmen.  In  truth,  he 
docs  as  much  for  me  as  I  ever  can  do  for  him ;  so 
that,  in  the  matter  of  obligation,  we  are  about 
equal." 

It  would  not  do  to  linger  longer,  and  they  were 
soon  at  Mr.  More  ton's  door.  Frank  leaped  from 
the  wagon,  eager  to  greet  his  mother  first;  nor  did 
he  heed  Carlo's  first  welcome  of  a  growl,  and  after- 
wards of  fawning  caress. 

Father  and  mother  were  there,  with  eyes  tearful 


243 


through  joy;   and  seam-ly  h:ul  the  word<  of  saluta- 
•tween  them  and  the  new-comers,  when 

ntered  up  to  the  door  upon  her  pony,  and 
threw  hermit'  into  Frank's  arms,  gave  him  a  hearty 
kiss,  which  he  as  heartily  returned,  and  then  she 
greeted  Dr.  Newton  with  the  same  salutation. 

D  was  the  next  to  come.  A  light  wagon, 
holding  herself,  the  bahy  and  Richard,  appeared  at 
the  door;  they  having  been  invited  to  meet  Frank 
and  gond  Dr.  Newton  at  the  tca-taMe. 

il  little  Dick?*'  asked  Man. 
niiig  with  Annie,"  answered  Susan;  "and 
they  should  be  here  now/'  she  said,  going  to  the 
door. 

There  they  were,  and  Annie's  cordial  voice  was 
heard — 

u  Ah  !  are  they  here  already  ?  I  thought  we 
should  have  been  before  them /'  but  Frank  stopped 
her  mouth  with  kisses,  for  he  was  boisterous  in  his 
joy  at  being  once  more  among  them. 

•  II  you  called  Henry  ?"  asked  Mary.  "  We 
promised  we  would." 

Robert  started  for  the  adjoining  room,  and,  in  an 
instant,  a  loud-sounding  note  on  a  horn  re-echoed 
through  the  air. 

"  That  is  the  very  same  old  horn/'  said  Frank, 
"and  makes  just  the  same  fine  music  it  did  years 
ago,  when  it  used  to  say,  '  Boys,  come  in  to  supper  !' 
and  '  Boys,  you've  played  out  long  enough  !'  " 


244  LIFE   IN    THE    WEST. 

When  Robert  returned,  he  complimented  him 
upon  his  musical  skill  and  proficiency  upon  his  fa- 
vourite instrument,  adding — 

"  Time  was,  Robert,  when  three  abortive  attempts 
would  be  made,  before  one  such  successful  blast  as 
you  just  now  favoured  us  with  could  be  heard.  But 
I  must  go  and  meet  Henry." 

Henry  was  hastening  from  the  field.  He  was 
dressed  in  coarse  trousers  and  a  short  whit, 
frock,  while  a  broad-brimmed  straw  hat  shaded  his 
face,  though  it  had  not  prevented  his  acquiring,  in 
his  out-of-door  pursuits,  a  high-coloured  and  some- 
what dark  complexion. 

What  a  hearty  greeting  was  there !     No 
degree  of  strength,  on  either  side,  was  exhibited  and 
felt  in  that  old-fashioned  shaking  of  hands,  and  mu- 
tual exclamations  of  surprise  at  the  personal  change 
cadi  found  in  the  other. 

Henry  tarried  awhile  in  the  shed,  ere  he  was 
ready  to  greet  Dr.  Newton.  The  trousers  were 
taken  off;  a  clean  coat  substituted  for  the  carter's 
frock;  house-boots,  black  and  shining,  were  pulled 
on  in  place  of  the  stout  cowhide  ones  with  which  he 
followed  the  oxen  and  traversed  the  ploughed  fields. 

Pure  cold  water  was  at  hand,  and  in  a  shu; 
time  than  it  has  taken  to  record  it,  he  was  ready 
appear,  fresh  and  acceptably  clad,  before  his  friends. 

Frank  waited  for  him ;  and,  as  he  joined  him,  he 
said — 


yto     i 
ads. 


CONCLUSION.  1J45 


"You  keep  up   the   old  habit,  Henry,  that  we 

I  to  think  mother  so  particular  about.  Do  you 
find  it  as  burdensome  as  we  formerly  thought  it 
was?" 

"  Oh,  no,  Frank  !  I  am  old  enough  and  wise 
enough  now  to  see  that  it  adds  to  my  own  comfort,  as 
well  as  to  that  of  mother.  Besides,  every  arrangement 

.:i<le  here  in  this  outside  room  for  one's  doing  it 
witl;  ami  it  really  takes  scarcely 

five  minutes  a  day  'to  doff  the  old  habit  and  on 
with  the  new.'  ;) 

The  E  .:il  which  had  summoned  IK  -HIT  had 

.   heard    farther  away,   and   Char!  Alice 

hurried  up  the  hill,  panting  with  <|iiiek   exertion, 
and  soon  were  in  the  midst  of  the  1  family. 

And  now  those  few  wonder-working 
seen  to  have  wrought  many  changes!  Mr.  and 
.vton,  with  Dr.  Newton,  had  still  the  same 
appearance,  unless  a  thread  of  white  was  seen  here 
and  there  more  visibly  on  the  temple.  Robert 
and  Richard  Gray  had  only  matured  and  strength- 
ened their  well-expanded  forms,  and  put  on  the 
look  of  business-men;  but  "Henry  had  really 
grown ;  that,"  said  Frank,  "  is  certain."  As  cer- 
tain was  it,  and  rather  more  perceptible,  that  he 
himself  had;  while  Charles  and  Alice,  one  would 
have  thought,  could  have  done  nothing  else.  Mary 

a  woman,  too,  still  bright,  and  with  a  counte- 
nance that  told  of  a  heart  full  of  melody;  Alice,  tall, 


246  LIFE   IN    THE   WEST. 


fair,  with  clustering  ringlets  about  her  face,  shrink- 
ing from  observation,  but  eager  in  her  love ;  Annie — 
"  sweet  Annie  !"  as  everybody  called  her — calm  and 
self-possessed,  thinking  of  all  the  others'  joy,  and 
of  their  happiness,  and  allowing  no  selfish  wish  to 
arise  that  she  too  was  fair  and  straight  and  strong ; 
Charles,  robust  and  ruddy,  even  now,  in  the  midst 
of  his  joy,  finding  time  to  tell  little  Cousin  Dick  how 
many  "nuts  he  and  Alice  had  gathered  that  after- 
noon, and  of  a  fine  squirrel  he  had  in  training  for 
him ;"  information  that  set  the  little  one  in  such  an 
ecstasy  of  pleasure  as  fairly  lifted  him  off  l.i- 
and  could  only  be  allayed  by  successive  hops  and 
skips.  Notwithstanding  this  development  of  love 
for  boyish  pleasures,  Charles  was  a  man  in  tl'rlinir 
and  in  aim,  but  retained  a  freshness  and  vigour  that 
usually  belong  only  to  earlier  years.  Si: 
(Mrs.  Gray  with  everybody  else,  but  still  holding 
the  appellation  of  "Cousin  Susan"  here,)  sin- 
like  a  young  matron,  now  hushing  the  little  boy  in 
his  noisy  demonstrations  of  happiness,  now  gazing 
tenderly  on  the  baby,  whose  existence  was  numbered 
by  months,  instead  of  years,  and,  again,  looking 
around  that  family  circle,  with  an  evident  satisfac- 
tion that  she  was  embraced  within  its  boun 

Then  came  that  gathering  about  the  hospitable 
table.  Plenty,  that  characteristic  of  Western  fare, 
was  here  seen,  but  in  conjunction  with  the  nicer 
culinary  arts,  and  with  an  evident  reference  to  the 


CONCLUSION.  247 


health,  instead  of  fastidious  appetite,  of  its  partici- 
pants. 

Do  my  readers  ask,  Was  Willie  forgotten  in  this 
family  reunion  ?  Passed  away  from  earth,  had  he 
also  passed  away  from  the  remembrance  of  those 
who  had  loved  him  ?  Oh,  no !  Little  do  those 
who  could  thus  inquire,  know  of  the  depth  of  that 
love  which  still  reigned  in  their  hearts  for  him  who 
was  not  lost,  but  gone  to  their  heavenly  Father's 
house.  Little  do  they  think  of  those  yearning  de- 
3  which  were  only  stilled  and  quieted  with  the 
confluent  belief  that  for  him  to  have  departed  and 
to  "be  with  l'hri>t  is  far  bett 

IIall<»wed  and  subdued  by  a  remembrance  of  mor- 
tality, life  lost  not  its  charms.  It  came  as  a  gift 
from  the  hand  of  a  gracious  God.  Their  creation 
was  with  them  a  matter  of  thankfulness.  The 
mercies  surrounding  their  path  WL-IV  so  many  in- 
creased obligations  neither  to  abuse  it  nor  pervert  it 
from  its  true  end.  The  uncertainty  of  life  was  but 
a  stronger  reason  for  valuing  and  improving  it  as  it 
passes ;  and  to  its  end  they  looked  as  opening  to  the 
« J  Jesus  a  higher  service  and  endless  bliss. 

Sunset  came,  with  all  its  gorgeous  drapery  of 
clouds,  golden,  violet  and  crimson;  it  found  Henry 
and  Dr.  Newton  in  the  fields,  looking  at  changes  and 
advances  which  Mr.  Moreton  pointed  out.  There 
was  much  conversation  about  ploughing  and  plant- 
ing, of  subsoil  and  sandy  loam,  of  pasture  and  wood- 


248  LIFE   IN   THE  WEST. 


land,  of  draining  and  fencing,  and  all  that  vast 
variety  of  subjects  which  mixed  husbandry  necessa- 
rily includes.  Frank  walked  away,  for  it  did  not 
interest  him  as  it  did  the  others.  He  found  his 
mother  and  sisters  together,  and  with  them  explored 
the  garden  and  orchard.  In  the  latter  they  found 
Charles,  with  his  hand  full  of  late  yellow  peaches, 
which  he  offered  to  them. 

"Do  take  one,  Frank/'  said  he;  "I  went  pur- 
posely to  show  you  and  Dr.  Newton  some  of  this 
new  kind.  We  call  them  resolution-peaches,  and 
think  them  wonderfully  good  for  preserving !" 

Frank  was  quite  in  the  dark  as  regarded  the  his- 
tory of  the  peach-tree,  but  he  praised  the  fruit, 
which  he  very  safely  might  do ;  and  we  as  safely 
praise  Charlie,  who  had  kept  his  resolution  watch- 
fully, until  it  was  bringing  forth  the  fair  fruits  of 
forbearance,  kindness  and  consideration. 

At  the  side  door  stood  Annie,  talking  with  a  lad. 

"  You  have  been  very  successful,  Patrick,"  said 
she;  "and  very  nice  roots  these  are.  Now  put 
them  with  the  others,  on  the  floor  of  the  wood-house 
chamber ;  and  one  more  Saturday  afternoon's  work, 
like  this,  will  finish  your  task." 

AVith  these  words,  she  turned  and  saw  Frank. 

"  Ah,  Frank  !  this  is  Patrick  McConey ;  and  we 
all  think  him  a  real  clever  boy.  See  what  a  quan- 
tity of  ginseng-roots  he  has  gathered  since  noon  I" 
and  she  put  her  slender  hand  into  his  basket  and  held 


CONCLUSION.  249 


up  some  of  the  joints.  "  lie  has  quite  a  quantity 
ut'  it  already,  and  we  store  it  here  until  it  is  nicely 
dried  and  ready  fi»r  - 

••  What  will  he  do  with  the  money  it  sells  for/' 
asked  Frank. 

"  Oh  !    that  is  a  secret  between  us ;    is  it  not, 

k  :x"   gayly  responded  Annie,   with  a  genial 

smile  overspreading  her  features.      "But  we  will 

yon  with  it,  si  nee  visitors  should  receive  extra 

attention.      A  JIi-<''>i\y   of  tk    1'nitnt   States,  price 

's,  is  to  be  the  purchase. 

Then  Patrick  can  go  into  one  of  Mr.  J>lagden's 
-ses,  if  he  has  a  little  perseverance  and  a 
little  help  in  learning  his  lessons." 

The  pcrsi  : ii ust  be  on  Patrick's  side,  but 

e  where  the  daily  patience,  in  //>//>- 
I  'inewhai  obtuse  intellect  in  keeping  pac--  with 
ijuieker  minds,  was  to  come  from. 

•   i    on     r    .nl,"  said  Frank.     "And,  Annie,  I 
'a  boy  and  girl — your  old  pets — are 
both  bright  and  improving." 

,  :mie ;  u  and  such  a  comfort  as 

"  Did  the  mother  ever  learn  to  read  ?"  asked  her 
brother. 

"No;  I  was  not  wise  enough  to  know  how  to 
teach  an  older  person ;  but  I  go  and  read  to  her 
very  often.  Were  it  not  for  her  and  Aunt  Rachel, 
I  should  have  little  to  do." 


250  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


But  where  were  Mr.  Moreton  and  Dr.  Newton  ? 
They  had  strolled  over  the  field  and  come  out  by 
Patrick's  house.  The  lingering  twilight  sufficed  to 
show  the  place  to  advantage.  Its  master  and  mis- 
tress were  both  at  the  back  of  the  cabin,  mending 
the  cracks  which  a  summer's  sun  had  caused  in  a 
hollowed  log  of  wood.  This  log  was  the  trunk  of  a 
tree,  and  sufficiently  long  to  extend  the  length  of 
the  house.  It  was  placed  under  the  projecting  ea 
and  would  both  catch  and  retain  (when  whole)  a  large 
quantity  of  water.  The  "water-wagons"  as  the 
clouds  were  called,  which  had  been  floating  in  the 
sky,  betokened  rain  to  come,  and  busily  were 
Patrick  and  Winne  employed,  filling  these  cracks 
and  openings  with  the  bark  of  the  slippery-elm, 
which,  when  moistened,  would  swell  and  make  it 
tight  and  whole. 

Looking  about  the  premises,  Dr.  Newton  was  struck 
with  the  manifold  uses  to  which  wood,  in  its  natural 
state,  could  be  turned.  A  little  hewing  and  split- 
ting, and  there  were  materials  for  a  house.  There 
was  a  snug  fence,  the  gate  of  which  was  held  toge- 
ther by  a  wooden  pin,  fitted  to  a  knot-hole  in  the  post. 
There  was  a  log-stable,  with  a  manger  made  of  a  hol- 
lowed tree.  There  was  a  well,  and  its  surrounding 
curb  was  but  a  thick  slice  out  of  an  immense  tree, 
hollowed  by  fire  and  by  slight  cutting.  The  bucket 
itself  was  swinging  from  a  flexible  tamarac  pole,  held 
by  a  stout  walnut  arm.  A  grape-vine  was  stretched 


CONCLUSION.  251 


across  the  yard,  from  pole  to  pole,  upon  which  hung 

children's  aprons,  stockings,  &c.,  to  dry.     A  pile  of 

logs,  lake  a  miniature  cabin,  was  the  place  to  keep 

s.     Another  stored  potatoes  and  turnips  for  the 

use  of  the  animals  in  winter.  Bancroft  Libn 

He  remarked  this  to  Mr.  Moreton,  who  replied — 

"Yt  s,  it  is  wonderful;  but  you  do  not  here  see 

it  exemplified  in  all  its  varieties.     I  have  sometimes 

lifted  the  wooden  latch  to  a  door,  and  seen,  within, 

and  a  bedstead,  seats  and  table,  even  the 

hook  1  ><iiliii^  kettle  over  the  fire,  made  of 

The  cradle  was  a  short  one,  hollowed,  and  a 

blanket  within  it  ;   the  bedstead,  two  stout  ones,  of 

.  securely   nailed   to  the  floor;   resting 

on  t'  kba  wall  ;.• 

two  ends,  and  r  at  the  m  ihis  were 

1  grape-vines,  or  else  small  pole-like  bran 

>n  it  and  upon  the  side-logs  of  the  cabin. 
The  seats  would  be  good-sized  logs,  smoothly  nit,  with 
:]-p'»rt  for  the  back  ;  the 
•r  and   higher  log,  such  as  you 
about  the  well,  only  whole.     A  crotched  branch  of 
a  tree   held   the   kettle,  and  a  large  wood-pile  fur- 
nished the  fire  for  its  necessities.     The  candlestick 
I  of  wood,  with  shingle-nails  set  in  a  circle ; 
while  the  babies  played  with  peeled  sticks,  dressed, 
upon  which  faces  were  marked  at  one  end,  and  with 
the  fruit  of  buckeye-trees,  husks  of  corn,  and  nuts 
of  every  kind." 

21* 


252  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 

"  Thus  their  necessities  are  met,"  said  Dr.  Now  ton, 
"  however  uninvitingly  it  may  appear  to  us  to  be. 
Our  power  of  adaptation  to  circumstance,'}  and 
the  contrivance  often  shown  in  procuring  the 
means  of  satisfying  our  wants,  is,  to  me,  often 
wonderful/' 

But  this  is  a  digression ;  and  we  would  draw  our 
reader's  attention  to  one  scene  more,  passing  over 
even  a  visit  to  Aunt  Rachel,  with  the  presentation 
of  a  pair  of  spectacles  by  Frank,  which,  she  averred, 
made  her  eyes  young  again.  More  than  this,  we 
may  not  stop  to  tell  of  an  excursion  into  a  neigh- 
bouring county,  which  was  taken  to  show  Dr.  > 
ton  a  large  prairie-farm,  with  embankments  of  earth 
instead  of  fences,  and  its  immense  fields,  with  cor- 
responding corn-cribs  and  threshing-floors.  Nor 
may  we  dwell  upon  Frank's  welcome  in  the  vill 
nor  his  arrangement  to  enter  himself  with  a  party 
of  engineers  who  were  surveying  the  land  in  that 
region,  in  view  of  a  railroad-rout ;  his  father  think- 
ing that  he  would  be  the  better  for  an  active  life  for 
a  while. 

Before  Dr.  Newton  left,  he  became  aware  that 
John  Dudley  and  his  favourite,  Mary,  were  to  unite 
their  fortunes,  and  he  begged  them  to  hasten  that 
event,  that  he  might  witness  it.  This  was  not  done, 
but  he  saw  daily  progressing  the  building  of  the  cot- 
tage in  which  they  purposed  to  live,  and  was  witness 
for  himself  that  this  union  was  to  be  one  of  conge- 


CONCLUSION.  253 


niality,  enlisting  hearts,  as  well  as  hands,  and  pro- 
mising a  future  of  happiness  for  both. 

"  But  I  saw  a  cottage  much  like  this  one,  near 
the  mill,  the  day  I  came,"  said  he,  after  going  about 
the  little  building.  "  Whose  is  that  ?" 

"  Mine,"  said  Robert;  "and  I  only  wait  for  this 
to  be  finished,  to  take  Mary's  chosen  friend,  Dora 
Van  Weichten,  to  it ;  for,  the  same  day  that  mother 
gives  her  daughter  to  John,  I  bring  her  another, 
whom  she  says  will  be  wclcon 

The  last  Sabbath  of  Dr.  Newton's  stay  had  come. 
They  had  ,  <  hurch  and  heard  the  word  of 

God  preached,  uniting  in  worship  with  an  earnest 
and  listening  congregation,  and  singing  the  praises  of 
their  Maker  with  the  voice  and  heart.  The  duties  of 
the  Sunday-school  had  been  attended,  and  were  \ 

\ ,  from  their  ordinary  routine,  by  an  ad«lr«-s 
from  their  Eastern  visitor,  and  by  a  vote  to  bestow 
the  old  library  on  a  new  school,  some  twelve  miles 
distant  from  them.  As  a  school  they  felt  rich 
enough  now  to  have  a  fresh  one  and  to  pay  for  it; 
and  they  would  show  their  thankfulness,  for  that 
given  to  them  in  their  weakness,  by  sending  its  well- 
read  but  well-kept  volumes  to  those  who  were  needy. 

The  walk  home  was  long,  but  the  gentlemen 
preferred  it  to  riding.  The  wagons  had  all 
passed  them ;  the  children  hurried  along,  turning, 
as,  they  overtook  Mr.  Moreton,  for  their  accustomed 


254  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


salutation :  even  the  women  who  came  on  horse- 
back to  church,  and  brought  babies  with  them,  had 
slowly  moved  past;  and,  when  Mr.  Blagden  over- 
took them,  he  seemed  to  be  the  last  of  the  congre- 
gation who  went  their  way. 

They  passed  Aunt  Rachel's,  and  received  a  plea- 
sant nod  of  recognition  from  the  old  woman,  as  she 
stood  leaning  on  her  crutches  while  Sobieski  let 
down  the  bars  for  her  to  enter  the  yard. 

"  That  boy  is  growing  up  into  a  very  likely  man/' 
said  Mr.  Blagden.  "  He  is  no  longer  in  school,  but 
comes  often  for  books  from  my  library;  and,  in  my 
opinion,  bids  fair  for  respectability  and  usefulness 
among  us/' 

"  Your  whole  Sunday-school  seems  full  of  likely 
boys  and  girls  !"  said  Dr.  Newton.  (t  I  never  spoke 
to  an  audience  of  youth  whose  faces  so  generally 
denoted  intelligence." 

"  We  have  no  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  our  village 
youth/'  said  Mr.  Blagden.  "  Their  advantages  have 
been  steadily  increasing  for  the  past  eight  years; 
and,  for  that  period,  their  improvement  has  been, 
from  one  season  to  another,  marked.  I  date  from 
the  time  of  Mr.  More  ton's  arrival  here ;  for  his 
coming  gave  us  an  impetus  in  many  matters,  which 
we  still  feel." 

"  How  was  that  ?"  asked  Dr.  Newton. 

"  Our  people  were  just  in  that  state  in  which  a 
leading  mind  is  needed.  We  were  ready  to  unite 


CONCLUSION.  *2.")5 


in  objects  of  public  good,  if  we  could  clearly  see 
our  way  before  us,  and  could  have  them  put  in 
a  practicable  shape.  When  31  r.  Moreton  came,  he 

I  fitted  by  position  and  by  education  to  be  that 
leader.  More  than  all,  his  example  was  eminently 
calculated  to  do  us  good.  Good,  plain  common 
sense  we  saw  he  had.  His  way  of  working  showed 
this.  We  soon  found  that  he  feared  God,  and  that 
his  religion  was  a  part  of  his  every-day  life.  He 
prai  advance  we  had  made.  This  pleased 

stern  people  are  not  much  accustom  <l 
to  praise;  ami  thus  jealousies  wen-  \v;:nl.  d  off.  If 
he  did  not  approve  of  a  thini:.  h<-  >  u<l  n"thiii_r.  We 
found  him  and  all  his  family  ready  to  help;  and 
their  influence  in  matters  of  religion,  in  the  cause 
of  <  in  social  intercourse,  in  manners  and 

It  the  more  powerful ly,  because 
unco 

Mr.  Moreton,  who  was  walking  in  advance  of 
:n,  here  turned,  and  inquired  if  Mr.  Thomas  had 
been  heard  from? 

'  V  i  bftfl  sent  to  his  son  John  to  make  the 
best  settlement  he  can  with  his  creditors,  and  join 
him  in  a  proposed  journey  to  California  to  dig  gold/' 

"I  hope  he  will  not  go  !"  returned  Mr.  Moreton. 
"  A  mine  of  wealth  lies  buried  in  his  own  fields,  if 
he  will  but  dig  for  it." 

He  turned  away,  and  Mr.  Blagden  resumed — 

"  That  Mr.  Thomas  and  his  family  were  a  perfect 


256  LIFE   IN   THE   WEST. 


contrast  to  our  friends,  the  Moretons.  They  were 
always  intending  to  leave  us  and  their  place ;  conse- 
quently, they  made  no  effort  at  improvement  in  either. 
"With  equal  means  and  equal  advantages,  Mr.  Tho- 
mas always  complained  that  he  was  not  appreciated , 
and  that  Mr.  Moreton  usurped  his  place ;  while  his 
success  was  ever  a  mystery,  for  he  would  not  see  it 
as  the  result  of  well-directed  labour.' ' 

"  To  what  do  you  attribute  the  higher  state  of 
morality  I  have  heard  you  mention  ?"  inquired  Dr. 
Newton. 

"  To  the  more  elevated  ideas  respecting  education, 
and  the  demand  which  they  have  made  for  more 
thorough  instruction.  Our  Sabbath  service  has 
awakened  attention,  and  the  hearing  of  a  well-writ- 
ten sermon  every  week  has  had  an  effect  upon  the 
intellect  and  elicited  inquiry.  Americans  are  natu- 
rally ambitious  for  their  children  ;  and  a  feeling  of 
ignorance  on  their  part  awakened  anxiety  for  the 
better  information  of  the  young." 

"  But  were  the  young  people  obedient  and  willing 
to  be  under  restraint  ?  In  new  countries,  it  is  not 
ordinarily  so." 

"  Now  we  come  to  the  first  cause  of  the  change ; 
and  of  it  I  may  speak  the  more  freely,  as  I  had  so 
small  a  share  in  it.  Our  Sunday-school  was  really 
the  foundation  of  our  improvement.  Here  the 
children  were  taught  the  commandments  of  God, 
and  were  led  to  feel  that  they  were  holy  and  just 


CONCLUS!  257 


and  true.  As  they  grew  up,  the  impression  still 
remained.  Qwr  children  j  eight  years  since,  are  our 
j/tfi/:  «1  u-Hmrji  now — some  of  them  heads  of 

families,  and  all  of  them  exerting  an  influence.'* 

"Has  the  school  affected  the  interests  of  the 
church  here  materially,  do  you  think  ?" 

"  Nearly  every  accession  to  its  numbers  has  come 
from  the  school.     At  our  last  communion  season, 
it  persons  were  received  to  our  church,  who  had 
been  scholars  or  teachers  for  several  years.     One  of 
•  learned  to  ivad  in  the  Sunday-school,  ami  has 
never,  through  poverty,  had  any  ntlu-r  opportunity 
for  instruction.     Mary  Moreton  found  her  out,  and 
lent  her  book  after  book  to  study  at  home,  until 
is  a  tolerable  srlmlur.      In  ttrr  than  all,  sli 
an  i  i  ;  and  i.f  thos.-  recei 

to  church-membership  i  generally 

feel  quite  confident  of  their  knowledge  and  have 
good  hope  of  their  sincerity." 

"  You  value  the  Sunday-school,  then,  as  a  help  to 
the  church,  as  elevating  our  ideas  of  education,  and 
as  an  influence  promotive  of  a  higher  state  of  public 
morals  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  as  an  efficient  aid  to  every  one.  The 
parent  feels  it  in  family  government;  the  teacher 
feels  it  as  promotive  of  effort ;  the  town-officers  feel 
it  as  an  instrument  of  good  order ;  the  minister  re- 
gards it  as  his  own  right-hand  man  :  even  the  farmer 
looks  to  it  as  a  protection  to  his  orchards  and  garden. 


258  LIFE   IN   THE  WEST. 


It  has  done  us  good;  and,  in  wise  and  judicious 
hands,  I  believe  it  to  be  a  powerful  and  wonder- 
working instrument  for  the  good  both  of  the  body 
and  souls  of  men." 

They  drew  near  to  the  house.  There  it  stood,  with 
its  green  blinds,  and  shaded  with  trees  just  tinged 
with  autumn  hues.  The  blue  smoke  curled  gracefully 
from  its  chimney.  Alice  stood  in  the  doorway,  wait- 
ing for  her  beloved  father.  Charles,  who  had  has- 
tened home  from  church,  and  was  already  attending 
to  the  necessary  duties  of  the  evening,  that  he  might 
be  at  leisure  for  the  social  worship  of  the  family, 
now  held  open  the  side-gate  to  admit  a  flock  of 
geese,  who,  in  single  iilo,  were  returning  to  their 
safe  night-quarters.  The  lowing  of  the  distant 
herds,  as  they  clustered  at  nightfall  about  the  well- 
filled  barns,  was  audible ;  and  old  Carlo  himself, 
with  unwonted  effort,  roused  himself  to  meet  and 
welcome  the  master  of  the  house. 

Thus  would  we  leave  them.  With  no  real  want 
unsupplied — no  imaginary  one  created  by  an  arti- 
ficial state  of  society;  where  honest  labour  is  honour- 
able; where  industry  secures  a  sufficient  fortune;  at 
harmony  with  the  world,  and  dwelling  together  in 
unity;  with  habits  of  sobriety,  intelligent  minds,  and 
a  wide  and  open  field  for  exerting  a  good  and  wise 
influence, — who  shall  say  that,  in  the  broad  fields 
of  the  West,  they  had  not  found  a  happy  home  f 

THE   END. 


• 


